


The Love Business

by SmoakandArrow



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Arrow - Fandom
Genre: F/M, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmoakandArrow/pseuds/SmoakandArrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Queen is too worried about the future of the family business to let anything get in his way, including a pushy, opinionated, blonde IT girl with a penchant for pushing his buttons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Game On

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Alternate Universe flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos. 
> 
> As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read. Oh and this one? Yeah, this one is definitely going to be a multi-part story.
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt: Game On**

"I'm serious, Victor," Oliver Queen said as the elevator doors parted and he moved toward the car. The people in it crowded backward, pushing toward the walls as if to clear as much space for him as possible. Fear? Respect? Didn't really matter. He didn't care. Ignoring them, he stepped into the car, turned to face the front, and folded his arms tight across his chest. "If you can't deliver when you say you're going to, how can this company trust you? How can I trust you?"

Victor Fries, an older man with thinning gray hair and a suit that was out of fashion at least five years ago, followed him in. He twisted his thin fingers together before pulling them apart again. He darted a quick look at the other people, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and cleared his throat. Twice. "I-I'm sorry Mr. Queen. There have been some setbacks."

"So you said last week. And the week before that. The week before that." Oliver checked his watch, glanced at the floor indicator lights as the car began its descent. "Queen Consolidated doesn't pay you for excuses. We pay you for results."

"I know but—"

"In the thirty years you've worked here, you've never let us down, Victor. No one can argue that. But lately?" He slid the man a sideways glance. "Let's face it. Your work is suffering. It's not up to QC quality. I can't keep looking the other way. I can't expect other employees to carry you. I can't keep hoping that maybe today is the day Victor Fries finds his footing and catches up with the needs of our global economy. Maybe it's time we both realized your abilities and Queen Consolidated's needs are no longer parallel. Maybe it's time we found someone more… high energy."

Victor winced. Hell, everyone in the elevator winced. Oliver ignored it. Screw it. Politically correct or not, everybody knew technology and its advances were a young person's game.

Inventions weren't about toiling in a garage for twenty years on the quest to find the perfect filament for the light bulb. It was technology: miracles in petri dishes, leaps in brain-computer interfaces, and developments in drone technology that let the unmanned craft not only hunt down one face on an entire planet of over seven billion faces, but deliver internet order to a customer's front door. It was alternative energy, date encryption, and retinal implants, and it moved lightning fast. QC either kept up or it would be overtaken, driven into the ground, and eaten whole. Only the strong survived, and if Oliver wanted the company to survive, if he didn't want to be handing out pink slips to thousands instead of just one as the company went under… Oliver Queen had to find a way to make the company survive. Everything was on his shoulders.

"Energy isn't the problem, sir," Victor said, his voice trembling. "It's the heat issue. I really don't think that shifting our focus to nanomaterials in the hope that they can change their magnetic orientation to handle radical temperature changes will yield—"

"No."

"But, Mr. Queen…"

"Enough!" Oliver swung around to face him. "That's it, Victor. I'm not having this argument with you again. I did it yesterday. I did it at the meeting on Monday. This is the end. Either meet the new directives you were given or step aside for someone who can."

The older man blanched. His Adam's apple bobbed. "Y-Yes, sir."

"I mean it, Victor. Next week. I want to see revised schematics on my desk. Understood?"

"Yes. Of course." He tugged on his tie, ran his hand over his balding head. "Next week."

The elevator dinged, announcing its next stop. When the doors started to open, Victor was already there, squeezing through the thin opening like an anaconda. The rest of the elevator's inhabitants followed.

The doors rolled shut again. The car continued its journey downward. The muzak version of the _Girl from Ipanema_ filled the car. Oliver pulled his smartphone out and tapped the screen to call up his email app.

"Well," a woman announced from behind him, "that was awkward."

Oliver jerked around. A petite blonde stood in the furthest corner. No. Not just standing – _wedged there_ as if she wanted to just push herself through the wall and disappear.

Despite Sinatra's insistence, she wasn't tall or tan. She was young, though. Too young for the executive floors, and she didn't wear a power suit or Jimmy Choo's. In fact… Oliver's gaze wandered over her, taking in everything from the ponytail that betrayed a distinct curl to her hair (even though she'd tried to tame it with a flatiron) to the glasses, ill-fitting Barbie pink blouse that matched her lipstick, and the short black skirt, all the way down a pair of rather shapely legs to the flats on her feet. He blinked at the shoes. Not just simple flats. _Panda_ flats.  Who the hell made shoes with panda faces on them? He gave himself a mental shake. No. What women _bought_ them?

The blonde gestured toward the closed doors. "Was that really necessary?"

His frown was slow to form, but deep. "Excuse me?"

She indicated the doors again. "That. What you did to Victor. Did you have to do that or do you just get off humiliating people?"

Tension crawled into his shoulders, straight up into his neck, and into his eyeballs to throb. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe he was working too hard without enough sleep. He forced himself to release a sigh, tried to work a sudden knot from his shoulder with a simple flex. He closed the email app before clenching his fingers around the smartphone. "Not that it's any of your business—"

"I feel like you kind of made it my business when you ripped into him in a public elevator."

He clenched his jaw as he drew himself up tall and straight. His shoulders squared. "Victor Fries missed his department deadline by three weeks."

"I know. I saw the memo." She lifted a shoulder. "People miss deadlines around here all the time."

"Not on this. Not now. Not when we're in a race to be the company that finally produces the biggest breakthrough in technology since the microchip."

"Til the next thing comes along," she muttered. She eased away from the corner, folded her arms loose across her middle. "Victor lives in the land of theoretical. That's where the whole research aspect comes into the department title: Research and Development."

"Queen Consolidated can't afford that. Victor understands that he needs to produce or I'll find someone who will."

She tipped her head to one side. That long, silky ponytail slipped over her shoulder to hug the curve of her neck before tangling with the simple black cord of the lanyard around her neck. Her blue eyes held steady as she peered at him from behind her glasses. Finally, she pulled a deep breath and said, "Did you know his wife was diagnosed terminal a few months ago?" Her brow crinkled. "Do you even know who his wife is?"

His heart stumbled. Victor Fries was married? No. Wait. He knew that. At least, he was pretty sure he knew that. They'd met at last year's corporate Christmas party. A slender woman. Oddly pretty, really, with platinum blonde hair. She'd stayed glued to Victor's side the entire evening. It had been odd, Oliver remembered thinking at the time, that such an attractive woman would end up with the odd mix of bulky, cerebral geekdom that was Victor Fries.

It was also, Oliver admitted as he adjusted his suit's bowtie, hard to imagine a woman like that sick, let alone terminal. The pressure behind his eyeballs seemed to grow. The real bitch of it was he hadn't known. Victor never said. At least Oliver didn't think he had. Unless the words "We got it!" came out of the scientist's mouth, Oliver didn't have a lot of time to listen to anything lately.

"We all have things going on in our personal live," Oliver said, parroting his father's voice in his head. "We can't let it affect our jobs."

"So you didn't know," she concluded. When he opened his mouth to argue, she angled her chin upward. "What's my name?"

His gaze instantly dropped to the Queen Consolidated employee badge hung around her neck. The card had flipped over at some point during the day so that, instead of her picture and name, all he got was the security barcode and ID number on the back. Crap.

"Ugh," she groaned. "Great. I've worked here two years, personally upgraded your computer system – something that took several days, with you, in your office – and you still don't have a clue who I am? Wow." She mimicked shaking pom-poms. "Go Team QC! Where everybody's family!"

"Queen Consolidated employs thousands of people," Oliver argued. It sounded lame even to his ears. "I can't possibly be expected to know —"

"Your father does."

He started to tell her his father had a knack for remembering the name of anybody with nice breasts but stopped himself. Not fast enough to keep from eying her breasts. But still. He cleared his throat and forced his eyes north. "My father is remarkable."

"Yes," she agreed as the elevator slowed. "He is."

The elevator glided to a full stop a moment before the bell dinged and the doors slide open to reveal the lobby.

"Allow me," Oliver said as he stepped forward to brace a hand against the frame and prevent the doors from rolling closed again. As she started to exit the car, he leaned closer and murmured, "Now could be a good time for you to realize it’s a good thing I don't know who you are."

Her blue eyes sparkled as the corners of her mouth curved upward. Wait. He was intimating he could have her fired and she was _laughing_ at him? The sudden urge to smudge that hot pink lipstick set him back on his heels.

"You have a good day, too, Mr. Queen," she said before continuing on.

Oliver stared after her but she didn't look back. Not once. She kept her head up, her shoulders back and those hips… Oliver watched them swing back and forth.

"Like a Samba," Sinatra crooned.

"Shut up, Frank," Oliver grumbled.

Then she was gone, the lobby crowd folding in around her and carrying her toward the revolving doors on the other side.

Oliver turned his attention to his phone again. A few simple taps had him in the Queen Consolidated HR files. He keyed in the ID number from the back of her badge and smiled as her employee file instantly came up. Ouch. They really needed to have their workers take off their glasses before getting in front of a bright camera flash. The picture did nothing for her. Her file, however…

He scrolled through the record, skimming for highlights. IT Department. MIT graduate. A corner of his mouth twitched upward. He should have known. That explained the panda flats. They must be geek chic. She was right about her employment, too. She'd been with Queen Consolidated for just over two years, picking up an assistant position on several key projects but never heading one of her own. Odd, really, considering her level of participation and clear problem-solving talents she brought that directly contributed to the project success. From some of the glowing letters from customers and fellow staff, she'd clearly earned the Alpha Geek title. So why hadn't she been promoted up the… Ah. Oliver paused at her annual reviews, picking out keywords like "attitude concerns," "issues understanding corporate hierarchy," and "some observed problems with authority." Oh yeah. That sounded about right.

Oliver glanced back at the lobby, searched the crowd for her again even knowing he wouldn't find her, oddly disappointed when he didn't. His phone vibrated in his hand, pulling him back to the present. He answered it with a simple press of a button and brought the phone to his ear.

"Oliver Queen," he said as he stepped back into the elevator and punched the button for the top floor.

"Oliver, where are you?" Robert Queen demanded.

"On my way up right now." He tugged at his tie. "Why? What's up?"

"We have a problem."

"Now what? Another labor strike? Copper shortage? The government up our ass again about those permits? Because our lawyers said they took care of all of that and —"

"Hackers," his father practically spat.

"Excuse me?"

"Hackers. Cyber terrorists. They hit one of our satellite offices and cut right through their firewalls like they were tissue paper. We barely had enough warning to yank the connections before they got into our cloud and raided everything."

Oliver groaned. Eyes closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "How bad?"

"I haven't seen this much porn spam since your brother tried to order a bride from that Russian modeling website."

He couldn’t help it. He laughed.

"It's bad, Oliver. We need someone reliable over there to help design the new system, get the right security protocols in place, and bring that office back online."

He straightened. "Which office?"

"Paris."

"Christ, that's our major hub for every office we have in Europe. If they're down…"

"Like I said. We have a problem."

Leave it to his father to understate things. They could get everything back up and running fast, but redesigning the entire system? Doing it right? That could easily take a year. He rubbed his forehead. "We can probably have someone on a plane before the day's over."

Hope sang through the line as his father asked, "You know a guy we trust to handle this job?"

Oliver looked down at the screen, absently touched his thumb to employee avatar at the top of the screen to instantly enlarge it, before lifting the phone back to his ear. "Woman," he said, correcting his father, "and yeah. I do." He smirked. "Her name's Felicity Smoak. You're gonna love her."

 

**~*~**

[Read About the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/85950138689/getting-through-the-break-olicity-flash-fiction)


	2. Too Far, Too Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver Queen thought shipping Felicity Smoak to Paris solved some of his problems. He was wrong. It was just the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> This is an A/U Olicity fic. As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read.
> 
> Prompt: Too Far, Too Fast

_16 Months Later…_

 

"Oliver, I'm in love."

Seated beneath the grand chandelier of the Starling City Plaza Hotel's main banquet hall, Oliver Queen paused, a caviar-topped blini halfway to his mouth. "I should hope so," he told his brother. "You're getting married in a month."

Thomas 'Tommy' Queen sighed into his flute of champagne before downing nearly half of it. He set the crystal glass aside, then leaned forward to fold his arms on the edge of the white linen covered table. "That's the problem, Ollie. I don't think I can go through with it."

Oliver stared at his younger brother. His jaw tightened. He made himself pop the canapé into his mouth and chew methodically. He did everything methodically. It was what was lifting Queen Consolidated from the brink of financial ruin and positioning it for worldwide domination of the technology sector required.

Between his mother's business savvy, his father's natural charm with people, and his talent for always knowing the right move, the Queen Family was an unstoppable force that proved there was no such thing as an immovable object. When it came to Tommy, however, Oliver was just tempted to replace the honorary Vice President title on his younger brother's business cards with _I don't think I can go through with it_. It was, after all, the same motto that got Tommy excused from everything from piano lessons at age 5, swimming lessons at 8, an internship at QC at 18, college application at 20, 21, and 23, his first – and second – marriage, including the delivery of divorce papers when said marriages crashed and burned. Oliver still had the scar on his chin from where wife number two – a rather temperamental model from Brazil – hit him with the wedding ring she'd hurled at his face. Oliver absently fingered the scar. How was he supposed to know baseball was her favorite sport? He'd never cared enough to read her Playboy centerfold turn ons/turn offs.

But that was how these things always ended. Oliver carefully wiped a smear of crème fraiche from his finger with the crisp white napkin before setting it aside. He cleared his throat. In a lifetime of Tommy Queen's _I Can't_ , Oliver somehow always ended up shouldering the _Then I Will_.

"Look, Tommy," Oliver started.

"Ugh. Don't." His brother flopped back in his chair. His hands dropped to his lap. "Here we go again."

Oliver forced himself to take a deep breath. "Everybody gets cold feet before a wedding."

"How would you know? You've never been married."

Touché.

"I know because I watched you do the same thing with Ilsa and the other one. What was her name? The Vegas stripper."

"Showgirl," Tommy corrected. "And her name was Tifynie. With a Y."

Oliver started to ask where the Y was that the name needed that clarification, but stopped himself. He rubbed his brow with his thumb and forefingers and said a silent Thank You to God for ensure that the other occupants of their table had wandered off to chat with other guests or drift around the dance floor.

"My point," Oliver said, "is that this is what you do. You commit, then you panic and you try to back out. It's natural."

"I don't think bringing up my two failed marriages is the best way to convince me the third is going to be great. I'm not Goldilocks trying to pick between bowls of porridge. Just because the others were too hot and too cold doesn't mean this one is going to be just right."

"You're absolutely right. You know how I know this time is different?"

Tommy shifted in his chair. A lock of dark brown hair fell across his forehead, making him look suddenly young and uncertain. "How?"

"Because you love Sara and she loves you. You've dated her longer than any other woman." Which wasn't saying much. People kept Tamagotchis alive longer than Tommy did his relationships. "I've seen you together. This one is different."

Tommy shifted his jaw. He looked away, seemed to linger on the swan ice sculptures framing tiers of cold shrimp, crap, and lobster on the buffet table. When he looked back, his gaze was steady; his gray eyes unblinking. "And I'm sure the fact that Sara is the daughter of CEO and owner of Lance Enterprises. The same company you're about to merge with in order to get your hands on their nano-do-jigget thing—"

"Nanomaterial based, temperature-controlled computer memory. And that nano-do-jigget is going to make all of our technology – everything from laptops to smartphones to servers all the way up to guiding systems for the military – run four times faster and seventy-five percent cooler than anybody else's. Analysts have the deal placing us about Apple, for God's sake."

Tommy waved it away. "I'm sure all of that has nothing to do with your sudden interest in my love life."

What was he supposed to do? Lie and say that losing this merger and the technology Lance Enterprises had developed wouldn't hurt Queen Consolidated? Deny that QC was already constructing new labs and factories in anticipation of the merger, and that tanking the merger at this point would cost QC potentially billions of dollars? Lie and tell his brother that the merger had nothing to do with the marriage and that his interest was solely in Tommy's happiness?

"Business is business," Oliver said, looking his brother dead in the eye, steady for steady, unblinking for unblinking. "But this has nothing to do with that. I've watched you struggle for years to find something of your own. Something that makes you happy. Sara's the first thing I've seen ever give you that. You're my brother, Tommy. I love you. Is it that hard to believe I just want you happy?"

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck and shifted forward in his chair again. "No. I guess not. It's just…" He shrugged. "Then you should be happy for me that I've realized before it's too late… before I make another stupid mistake… that Sara isn't the right woman for me. She's great. Don't get me wrong. She's pretty and everything but—"

"She's in pediatric transplant hepatology. She made the cover of _Time_. She's more than a pretty face."

"Yeah. Sure. But I don't love her. I love someone else. Now she… _She's_ amazing."

If Tommy said exotic dancer or Vegas cocktail waitress, would anybody blame Oliver if he climbed over the table and punched his brother in the face? Oliver occupied his hand by curling it into a fist on his thigh. "So who is she?"

"You'd like her. She's a lot like you."

Oliver tried not to choke.

"She is," Tommy insisted. "She's smart, good with people, a little different, but that gives her charm. In fact, I…" He suddenly sat up straighter, looked around the crowded banquet hall. "I invited her to meet me here tonight."

Oliver scowled. "You invited her to the corporate holiday party?"

"Well, sure. She works for us."

Oliver barely resisted the urge to bang his head against the table. He gaped at his brother. "You're seducing an employee?!"

Tommy had the decency to flush. "It's not like that."

"An employee. Of Queen Consolidated."

"Yeah. She works—"

"Do you know the kind of lawsuit she could file?"

"She wouldn't do that."

"Tommy? It's called sexual harassment. You're her _boss_."

"Are you kidding me? I can't find my office without one of the secretaries showing me where it is. I don't work there, Oliver." Another hand wave. Another dismissal. "That's your thing."

"Well my _thing_ ," Oliver said through gritted teeth, "pays for all of _your_ stuff. So I'd appreciate it if you didn't put us in a position that could cost us—"

"There she is."

Oh, God, Oliver realized as he watched a dreamy, dopey haze cloud his brother's face, softening his gray eyes and turning his smile dopey, they were in serious, serious trouble. He twisted in his chair to follow the direction of Tommy's gaze and scanned the crowd. Who was it? The busty new intern in the too-tight sweaters? The stacked red-head from accounting? He lingered on his father's assistant – a rather stunning blonde currently rocking a too-short, too-tight, very fashionable glittery gold dress on the dance floor – but dismissed her just as quickly. She was the same age as Oliver. Twenty-nine. About seven years too old for Tommy's tastes.

"Isn't she magnificent?" Tommy breathed from behind him.

And then he saw her.

The lights seemed to frame her as she descended the curving staircase, igniting a dozen highlights in the curls she'd gathered atop her head. Her skin looked creamy and warm, even at this distance, made warmer by the glint of the glittering embellishments on the bodice of the lush, short sleeved, chocolate-colored gown she wore. The elegant v-neckline emphasized the swell of her breasts while the empire waist let the luxurious fabric flow down to her feet. The brush train trailed behind her, the fabric flowing over the step immediately succeeding her.

Oliver blinked, feeling dazed and a bit confused. Why hadn't anyone told him? Why hadn't he known?

"You know everybody at QC, Oliver," Tommy went on, clearly oblivious. "I'm surprised you don't know her."

"Felicity Smoak," Oliver murmured at the same time Tommy said her name. His brother didn't notice that either. Oliver curled his fingers into his palms as she reached the main floor of the banquet hall and paused there to look around the room.

"She's from IT," Tommy added unnecessarily as he stood and buttoned his tuxedo jacket.

Unnecessarily, Oliver mused, because he knew exactly who she was. Nobody could forget the ponytailed, bespectacled IT girl with her ill-fitting Barbie pink blouse, short skirts, and flats. Panda flats. His focus drifted over her again, lingered at the peek of dainty-toed shoes under the hem of her skirt when she moved. No panda flats here though.

Oliver frowned as what felt like disappointment flickered through him. He pushed it aside and stood when he realized she was moving toward their table.

Tommy appeared at his side. "Can you believe it?" he asked, his eyes full of moon and stars. "She's worked for us for years and I never met her. I still can't believe it."

"Where did you…"

"An airplane. Can you believe it? I was coming back from Europe and we ended up on the same plane last week. She was apparently coming home from our Paris office. She's been stuck there since some jackass at QC shipped her off there to run some project."

She still moved like the Samba, Oliver realized, even though the orchestra seemed to keep asking _Isn't It Romantic_.

"It's damned inappropriate is what it is," Oliver muttered.

"Of course it's inappropriate," Tommy said. He clapped his hand on Oliver's shoulder and heaved a besotted sigh. "Wildly, wonderfully, amazingly inappropriate. I've never been so charmed or laughed so much with a woman in my life. It's what makes her so perfect."

"This is ridiculous." So was the fact that his palms felt clammy. Crap. He was going to have to shake her hand when they were introduced. He couldn't do that with sweaty palms. Oliver Queen did not have sweaty palms!

"Ridiculous?" Tommy snorted. "About love? About my future? I think this is the most un-ridiculous thing I've ever done. It just makes sense to me."

"No. What makes sense is you and Sara. Sara is beautiful and smart and, for some ungodly reason I don't understand, adores you. I'm telling you. This is cold feet."

"This is sanity," Tommy argued, "and you're not talking me out of it. Felicity is the girl for me and I'm telling Sara the wedding is off."

Oliver glared at his brother. "When?"

"Tonight. After the company banquet. I've already arranged to meet her for drinks."

Oliver groaned. Gone. The entire merger deal. Done. Sara's father would never sign merger papers after Tommy Queen burned his little girl. Everything would fall apart. Queen Consolidated would fall apart. There had to be a way out.

"Felicity," Tommy said as she drew near. He stepped forward, caught her hand, and brushed a kiss across her cheek. "I'm so happy you could make it. You look beautiful."

She absently reached up to touch her hair. "Thank you. You look appropriately rakish."

He flashed that killer Tommy Queen smile and Oliver was amazing to see Felicity Smoak blush under its wattage. Was there a woman on the planet who didn't fall for that?

Oliver grunted. The sound seemed to remind Tommy they weren't alone because he jumped a bit. "Oh. Right. Felicity, this is Oliver. My brother. Hey, you know, you should really tell him about your transfer to Paris. If anybody can figure out which jackass boss of yours got you transferred to Europe—"

Felicity startled. "I never said—"

"Jackass," Tommy interrupted. "Clearly. Through and through, one hundred percent. No doubt." He turned back to Oliver, nudged his shoulder. "But Oliver can figure it out. He's a smart guy."

She flushed a rather attractive shade of pink.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Oliver said as he claimed a step forward, his clammy palms gone. She gave him her hand only because it was obvious he expected it. "It's lovely to see you again, Ms. Smoak."

"Mr. Queen," she greeted with a slight incline of her head.

Tommy eyed them. "Oh. Oh so…" He wagged his finger between them. "The two of you do know each other."

"Of course," Oliver said. He clasped Felicity's delicate hand between his and smiled the brightest, most charming smile he could muster, hoping he'd somehow managed to include a dimple in there somewhere. "I'm the jackass."

**~*~**

[ _Read More About the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge_ ](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/85950138689/getting-through-the-break-olicity-flash-fiction)


	3. Alone With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After sixteen months of banishment in Paris, Felicity Smoak returns to Starling City and comes face to face with her personal nemesis: Oliver Queen. Let the games begin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> This is an A/U Olicity fic. As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read.
> 
> Prompt: FF#4 - Alone With You

Oliver Queen looked the same, Felicity Smoak decided as he released her hand. Rich. Powerful. Arrogant. Unflappable. She smoothed her hand, still oddly tingling where it had touched his, over her skirt, smoothing the silky material even though it didn't need smoothing. She didn't know why she expected Queen to be any other way.

Oh, a part of her had definitely wanted to see the look on his face when she walked through the banquet room doors – at his brother's invitation, no less – and, yes, some small, insignificant, petty part of her had imagined that reaction when selecting her dress for the evening.

Was there anything wrong with wanting to look good when confronting the man she considered her own personal nemesis for the last year and a half? She was just using the same strategies Queen himself employed with every business deal. As her friend Marie, one of Queen Consolidated France's vice presidents, had explained to her during that time, Queen's modus operandi was simple. He followed five basic rules and never, ever let anything interfere with them.

Rule number one? Always operate from a position of strength, assuredness, and power. If you didn't have it? Fake it until you could find a real toehold and then never, under any circumstances, let it go.

Where Oliver Queen wielded multi-billion dollar corporations, voting rights, proxies, and market shares as his weapons, Felicity's arsenal was limited to couture gowns, a pair of Christian Louboutin CFM pumps, and a particularly gravity-defying push-up bra.

"For the record," Felicity said, "I never called you a jackass."

Oliver Queen shrugged. "In hindsight it probably seemed that way to you."

She cocked her head. A cascade of curls tumbled over her shoulder. "Is there any other interpretation? Apparently I ticked you off that day in the elevator so you shipped me off to Siberia."

Tommy glared at his brother. "Oliver, you didn't."

"I didn't." Oliver shifted. "Technically it was Paris."

"Wow, and you talk about my impulse control."

"I've never stolen a cab and peed on a cop," Oliver pointed out.

"Siberia or Paris." Felicity lifted a shoulder and let it drop. "It's the same difference."

"Somewhere a Frenchman just died," Oliver told her, amusement crinkling the corner of his eyes. "I think I heard someone claim Paris has slightly better croissants, cheese, and wine than Russia."

Felicity pressed a hand to her stomach. "Tell me about it. I gained ten pounds while I was there."

The amusement flared hot as Oliver's gaze drifted over her.

"You wear it well," Tommy said as he slipped as arm around Felicity's waist and stepped closer. "I like a woman with sexy curves. And they do such nice, nice things for that very pretty dress."

Felicity blushed and knocked her small clutch purse against his hand. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_ ," he practically purred.

Oliver's gaze snapped back to Felicity's face. He cleared his throat. "I didn't transfer you to Paris because of what happened in the elevator."

Tommy eyed them both. "What did happen in the elevator?"

Oliver ignored him. "I sent you because you were the best person for the job, and I was right. I received nothing but outstanding compliments in status reports from QC-F. You have many admirers in their upper management."

The heat on Felicity's cheeks increased. "Thank you."

"No. Thank you. Without your expertise we never would have recovered as quickly. I hear the new system you implemented is exceptional. They've even recommended we adopt it here in the U.S."

"Ahh," she drawled, "is that why I was allowed to finally come home?"

"You could have come home anytime you wanted. You weren't being punished. I sent you there because we had an emergency and, after looking at your employee file…"

Felicity smirked.

"I realized you were the perfect person for the job. There was no reason why you hadn't been given the opportunity to lead a project. It was overdue. The minute I heard about Paris, your name popped into my head."

"I'll bet it did."

"I have good instincts for these things," Oliver insisted.

"He does," Tommy agreed. "Oliver has a knack for always seeing exactly how pieces fit together long before anybody else. He's like a business whisperer."

"BS, indeed," Felicity said with a bright, innocent smile.

Oliver Queen's eyes narrowed.

She mentally stuck her tongue out at him.

"Did you not enjoy Paris?" Oliver asked.

"Oh, I enjoyed it fine, regardless of your intent in sending me there—"

"Strictly professional."

She ignored him. "I learned a lot."

"Good. QC appreciates employees with global experience."

"I didn't mean about business."

"Oh. Then…"

"About myself. About life. Living. Love."

Oliver shifted again. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"It's much different from the States."

"So I've heard."

Felicity lifted her brows. "You've never been?"

Tommy laughed. "Oliver hasn't taken a vacation since we were kids and our parents sent us to the God awful summer camp." He paused to swipe champagne glasses from a passing tray. He handed one to Felicity as he glanced at his brother. "Do you remember that? Horrible place. Oliver got sun poisoning the second day we were there."

Oliver's jaw shifted. "Yes. I remember."

"That place didn't even have cable TV."

"That place," Oliver said, his voice oddly tight, "was a 112 foot yacht that took us snorkeling in Bora Bora."

"And didn't have a TV." Tommy flashed a smile and a wink at Felicity. "That's very important when you're a thirteen year old boy, stuck with twenty-four other kids – none of which were girls, by the way – who doesn't care about fish or coral. Oliver spent the entire time in bed, slathered in ointment, drafting business proposals and an operating budget for our father for… What did you call it, Ollie? SeaQuest?"

"ExplorOcean," Oliver corrected. He angled his chin up a notch. "That turned into a multi-million dollar tourism venture for us, by the way."

Felicity felt something inside her soften at the look of instant defensiveness and, yes, even hurt that flashed across Oliver Queen's face.

Suddenly she could picture the two little boys on that yacht in the middle of the ocean. Just the two of them. Opposite sides of the same penny. Poor Tommy – the natural charmer – at sea, literally, with a bunch of boys who probably didn't care how white his smile was or how angelic he could be. Meanwhile poor Oliver – who probably would rather have been at home watching the CNN stock report – was forced to try and be a normal kid, which only reinforced how he was anything but normal.

Somehow Felicity bet Tommy had done better, easily adopting whatever personae would get him through the excursion unscathed. Oliver, though… She lingered on his profile. He would have retreated and just waited until it was over with a vow to never be that vulnerable again. It was something, she realized with a little sigh, she could totally relate to.

Tommy must have heard the sigh because he shifted his attention to her. "How about you, Felicity? Ever go to camp?"

"Once," she admitted. "When I was eight."

"What happened?"

"I got chased by bees and fell in poison ivy. I spent the rest of the time in my cabin, covered in calamine lotion, learning how to braid friendship bracelets." For friends she didn't have there and never made.

Oliver grunted gently.

"No calamine lotion needed in Paris, eh?" Tommy joked, elbowing her gently.

She laughed. "No, thank goodness. But it did teach me how to have fun. They work just as hard as we do, of course, but they know how to, at the end of the day, put that work down and leave it there. They go out and play. And laugh," she added, unable to hide her smile. "They laugh a lot."

Tommy chuckled. "Sounds like Oliver should send himself there for a year."

Oliver didn't laugh.

"Do you miss it?" Tommy asked.

"Dreadfully," Felicity said, surprised by how much she meant it. "But I've only been back a few days. I'm still acclimating."

A low buzz interrupted and Tommy apologized as he fished his cell phone from his pocket. He checked the screen. "Damn."

"What's wrong?" Felicity asked.

"I… um… didn't realize it was this late. I need to make a phone call and let them know I'm going to be a little later than I thought. Excuse me."

Felicity watched him disappear into the crowd. Damn. There went her subconscious support system. She squared her shoulders and turned back to Oliver. Why was it so hard to feel anything but awkward and uncomfortable with him? So he was wealthy. So what? It didn't make him better than her. It just made them different.

"So, Oliver murmured, "I guess we're alone at last."

She made herself smile.

"I saw in your file you grew up in Nevada," he continued. "Starling City is quite a change. What made you leave?"

"College."

"Ah. Yes. MIT."

"Good memory."

"Good school."

"Do you miss it?"

"Nevada?" She shook her head. "Not really. I like cities that have seasons."

"What about family?"

Felicity tried not to tense and failed. "My mother still lives there."

"It must have been difficult to be away from her for this long."

"Not really." She cringed before rushing on to say, "I mean, she's familiar with Queen Consolidated. She knows how global they are and how employees sometimes have to travel."

"Oh, so she knows us."

Boy, did she. Felicity shifted her purse to her other hand and glanced around for Tommy again. "Yes. She's interacted with some of your executives over the years."

"Really? What industry is she in?"

"Hospitality."

"Hotels and casinos." His smile was patient. "I should have known. It seems like that's all there is in Nevada these days. Queen Consolidated does do a lot of business in Nevada. We hold several conferences and conventions a year there."

Her face felt tight, her smile forced. "It's America's playground."

"Who does she work for? Maybe I know her."

"I doubt it."

"I've learned it's a small world."

"Wrong state. Wrong playground."

He chuckled. "Is it the Venetian? The Mandarin?" When she shook her head, Oliver guessed, "The Bellagio. We had a conference there six months ago."

"No. She works at the Palms."

"Sales? Marketing? Or is she in their corporate events department?"

"Neither." Felicity straightened to her full height and refused to look away. "She's a cocktail waitress."


	4. Red-Handed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When things don't go quite as planned with Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen takes drastic action to keep the business merger in line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos. I also totally went over the hour on this one since my timer never went off. Whooops.
> 
> This is an A/U Olicity fic. As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read.
> 
> Prompt: Red-Handed

Oliver was used to Tommy's screw ups: dented cars, "borrowed" wives, the occasional arrest for drunk and disorderly – one of which involved the theft of the Starling City Rockets' mascot during game three of the playoffs – and several paternity lawsuits which, to Tommy's credit, all turned out to be false. Tonight, however, forever raised Thomas Queen's bar for troublemaking

In the span of a single hour, he'd managed to sink a multi-billion dollar deal, destroy the progress of technology so revolutionary it could have launched Queen Consolidated ahead of Apple and into the analogs of tech history, potentially drive QC into the ground (if not bankruptcy court), break an engagement, ruin two families, and replace his fiancé – one of the most successful women in the world – with the daughter of a cocktail waitress. From Vegas.

Felicity Smoak tilted her head. "You look disappointed."

"Not at all," Oliver said as he rubbed his ear.

"Surprised then."

"I'll give you that."

A corner of her mouth curved upward and her eyes seemed to sparkling beneath the banquet hall lights. "Is everything a negotiation with you?"

"It is my business."

She gestured to the party around them. "Work hours are over. This is supposed to be social time." Her brows flicked upwards. "Aren't you ever off the clock?"

"Corporations never sleep."

"Corporations aren't people."

Oliver laughed. "Tell that to the Supreme Court." He glanced behind him when a group of people tried to maneuver between him and a table. Automatically, he cupped Felicity's elbow and steered her back, away from the crowd. He didn't realize he'd let his hand linger until she glanced down.

He pulled his hand back, clenched it into a fist where he swore he could still feel the lingering warmth of her skin against his palm. He jammed the hand into the pocket of his tuxedo pants. "And I didn't mean I was surprised about your roots."

Her brows shot upward. "Oh, really? I washed my face and hands before I came, I did." When he just stared, Felicity said, "Eliza Doolittle? My Fair… Okay. Not a theater buff, I take it."

"Do they prance around and sing in it?"

"Yes. Quite a bit."

"Yeah. Not a fan. But I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I wasn't saying that you were… That your mother being a waitress meant that you were, weren't…"

Felicity's lips spread into a wide smile. That twinkle came again, brighter, more mischievous.

Oliver stared. "You're enjoying this."

"Watching you try to pry your foot out of your mouth? Yeah. I kind of am." She leaned toward him and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Does that make me a horrible person?"

"No. I think you're entitled to a little revenge for what you think I did."

"What I _think_ you did? Are you saying you didn't banish me to Paris for bruising your ego?"

Oliver shifted his jaw. It was his turn to tip his head and eye her. "You do realize I'm still your boss, right?"

"Yes, but I'm not afraid of you anymore."

He scowled. "You were afraid of me?"

"Oh, my God, everybody at Queen Consolidated is. They won't even talk about you in the bathrooms in fear you've got them bugged."

"The _bathrooms_?"

She nodded.

"That would be illegal." Not to mention disgusting.

She shrugged. "People are paranoid."

"But not you."

"Nope."

Not that her confirmation surprised him. She'd been bold, opinionated, and pushy in the elevator. Back then he'd considered it a young recklessness. Apparently it wasn't. "So what makes you so brave? The champagne?"

"Well," she drawled, "going to Paris taught me a lot."

"Yes. So you said.   Life. Living." He made a vague gesture. "Love."

"That. But also how utterly incompetent your IT outsourcing has become. That whole hacking thing would never have happened if you'd let your in-house staff design specialized systems instead of farming it out to third party firms who just give you cookie-cutter systems a bored fifteen year old Ukrainian kid can hack on a Friday night."

"It's not about specialized. It's about efficiency."

"Yes. I can see how efficient having your system crash and take down half a European continent was for you." She flashed a thumbs-up. "Brilliant."

A slow burn started in Oliver's chest that worked its way to his cheeks. Anger or embarrassment? He wasn't exactly sure since warring impulses urged him to either throttle her or drag her into a dark hallway to… Oliver cut the thought off. He rocked back on his heels. "My, you are feeling brave."

"That was my point about Paris. It's Rule Number Two."

"You have rules?"

"Doesn't everybody?"

He did, of course – five of them – and for some reason it felt as if Felicity Smoak had already broken Number One tonight. He couldn't seem to find a firm footing with her. Just when he thought he'd found a position of power, she tipped the whole scale over and left him scrambling to catch up. He didn't particularly care for the feeling.

"I have five," she continued.

"Only five?"

"I find brevity brings clarity."

"I find that really hard to believe." Brevity did bring clarity, of course, but Oliver had a hard time believing Felicity Smoak could be brief – let alone focused – on a single task. This conversation alone was proof of that. He didn’t even remember where they'd started.

"Anyway," she said, "I learned just how much I know, how valuable it is, and how much Queen Consolidated benefits from that knowledge."

"Are you suggesting you're un-fire-able?"

"Of course not. That would be silly. No one at QC is un-fire-able. Well, nobody whose last name isn't Queen, I mean. It's just that if you did fire me, I'd just get another job."

"That easily."

She nodded. "It would be QC's loss and a competitor's gain." Her blue eyes met his and held firm. "It's very liberating to realize you control your own destiny."

"Don't be foolish. No one controls their destiny. There are too many forces as work."

"Oh, people may push and pull and try to manipulate you so they get their way, but in the end? We decide for ourselves whether we surrender or stand firm. No one can really make us do anything. They're all choices. Our choices. Being sent to Paris helped me understand that."

"Should I take credit for that?"

"Oh, I think you could take credit for a great many things, Mr. Queen. But not that one."

He nodded and looked away. He touched his tuxedo tie. "About before. I wasn't…" He took a deep breath, planted himself mentally, and faced her. "I'm not a snob. There's nothing to be ashamed of in hard work."

"No," Felicity agreed. "There's not."

"I just meant that you must have worked very hard to get into M.I.T. and graduate. That takes a lot of determination."

"I tend to be very passionate about things I want. Once I set my sights on them… Very little stops me."

Oliver tensed. Why did that sound like it held a double meaning? Why did it feel vaguely like a threat? He searched her face but found nothing in her neutral expression that gave away her thoughts.

Felicity stood up a bit straighter. Her breasts, small and round, but held perfectly high and plump against the v-neckline of her gown, seemed to swell larger. "Now, you'll have to excuse me. I haven't eaten all day and I'm starved." She paused next to him and touched his arm. "It's lovely to see you again, Mr. Queen. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of each other now."

Oliver watched her go, was still staring at the spot in the crowd where she vanished when Tommy rejoined his side.

"Where's Felicity?" his brother asked.

"Getting something to eat." Staking a claim? Giving a warning? Issues a challenge? Oliver didn't know but it felt like all of the above.

Felicity's parting words ignited a strange hum in his blood, the same one he got when he knew – just knew – that pursuing a takeover was the right move. That buying a certain stock would yield Queen Consolidated a vast fortune. That something in a whisper, in news headlines, in a discovery or proposed exploration would lead to bigger, bolder, brighter things.

Oliver absently rubbed his fingertips together. Fingertips that tingled as if they'd touched a live wire. This was what he loved about the business – moves and countermoves. Outplaying an opponent. He frowned. But this wasn't a test of CEO to CEO; business smarts to business smarts. This was about QC's survival. About averting disaster, not flirting with it.

Shit. He was not _flirting_ with Felicity Smoak. Oliver Queen didn't flirt.

He glared at Tommy. "How did your call to Sara go? I hope you broke the news gently."

"I'm not telling her something like this over the phone. Geez, Oliver, you don't understand women at all, do you."

"Less and less every day," he grumbled.

"I'm going to leave right now and go meet her. We'll talk. She'll understand once I've explained why we have to break it off."

Moira Queen, who happened to be sweeping by in all her bejeweled glory, jerked to a stop, nearly causing her husband to crash into her back with a plate of cream puffs. One of them rolled right off the plate and hit the floor, splattering chocolate glaze and whipped cream onto the toe of his shoe.

Moira caught Oliver's arm. "Break it off?" She looked back and forth between her sons. "Break what off? What's Tommy breaking?"

Robert scowled at the dirty toe of his highly shined shoe. "What's broken, darling?"

"I don't know. I'm trying to find out. What did Tommy break now?" she demanded.

"Nothing!" Tommy said as Oliver responded, "Sara's heart."

Moira's shoulders sagged. "Oh no. Oh, Tommy. What did you do now?"

"I didn't do anything!"

"Yet," Oliver corrected. He patted his brother's shoulder before shifting to stand beside him and face their parents. "Mom. Dad. I think you should prepare yourselves." He gestured to the nearest empty chair. "You might want to sit for this one, Mother."

Moira searched blindly for the arm of the chair before sinking into the seat. "Oh no."

Oliver clapped his hand on Tommy's shoulder. "Tommy is in love with a beautiful woman."

"Sara's very beautiful," Robert agreed as he bent, napkin in hand, to wipe the food from his foot.

"No, Dad. Not Sara. Felicity."

Robert froze. His head snapped up. "Who the devil is Felicity?"

Moira groaned and dropped her face into her hand.

"She's a lovely girl," Oliver assured his father. "You know her well. She works for us."

"Oh, God." Moira waved her other hand at her husband. "Drink. I need…"

He passed her his glass.

"She's been in our Europe office for the last year or so, redesigning our network there. Felicity Smoak. I've met her," Oliver continued. "You'll like her. Smart. Dedicated. Good worker. Comes from good stock. I believe her mother is a cocktail waitress in Vegas."

Moira nearly choked as she downed the champagne.

"B-But what about Sara?" Robert demanded as he straightened.

"Don't you mean 'But what about the merger?'" Tommy asked dryly.

Oliver sliced his hand through air. "I told you, Tommy. Forget about the merger. I've already explained to Tommy that one isn't contingent on the other."

Robert's brows dove downward. "You have?"

"Of course I have, Dad. We all love Tommy. We all want him to be happy. If that's with Felicity, why wouldn't we want them to be together?"

Robert's mouth thinned. "Oliver, may I speak to you—"

"In a minute, Dad. So, tonight, Tommy is going to break the news to Sara. In the morning, we'll have to deal with any repercussions her family might – or might not – bring. But I told Tommy," Oliver said, giving his brother a solid slap on the back, "this deal is still in the best interests of both our companies. I don't think any family would be as petty as to put billions of dollars at risk just because an engagement ends."

"A month before the wedding," Moira mumbled into her glass. When she went to take another sip, she seemed to realize it was empty. She snapped her fingers at a passing waiter for another glass, seized it when offered, and emptied it in one long gulp.

Oliver waited until she met his eye before he, very precisely said, "Exactly. A full month _before_ the wedding."

She stared at him, blinked slowly, then lowered her glass and sat up straighter in the chair. "Oh. Oh! Yes. A full month before the wedding." She patted Robert's elbow. "A month, Robert. That's plenty of time. Oliver's right, Robert."

"Well, then," Tommy declared as he straightened his tuxedo jacket and buttoned the single button, "since we're all in unanimous agreement, shall we make it official with a motion that I, Thomas Queen, may actually live my own life the way I want without seeking approval from the Queen Consolidated Board of Directors? Do I hear a second?"

"Oh, Tommy," Moira said, "that's not why—"

"Second," Oliver said, using the pepper shaker on the table on a makeshift gavel. He tipped the crystal bottle toward his father, then his mother, accidentally spilling bits of the black power across the white tablecloth. "And you two need to support Tommy in this because he's right. So unless you object…" When they said nothing, he gave a sharp nod. "Good. The motion carries."

Oliver smiled at his brother. "So what are you waiting for? You need to get out of here pretty soon if you don't want to keep Sara waiting. It's going to be bad enough you're breaking off the engagement. Do you want to insult her by being late _and_ dumping her?"

"No, of course not. I just…" Tommy looked over his shoulder to search the crowd. "I need to tell Felicity…"

"I'll tell her," Oliver assured him. "Don't worry about a thing. In fact, I think you should come back here you're through with Sara and start things with Felicity on the right foot. Take her out on the Queen's Gambit for a midnight cruise. I'll have the crew ready the yacht. In fact…" He paused to motion a waiter over. "Two empty glasses a bottle of champagne, please."

The waiter nodded and hurried off.

Tommy frowned. "What…"

"You can take it with you. Put it in the car. That way, when you meet Felicity you can celebrate a new start. I'm sure she'll enjoy that."

Tommy frowned a bit. "You know, I'm surprised you're taking this so well."

"Tommy." Oliver stood in front of him and put both hands on his brother's shoulders. He searched his eyes and, with every ounce of truth and sincerity in him said, "I have always wanted – and will always do – what's best for this family. You know that."

The tension melted from the other man. "Thanks, Oliver."

"Don't thank me yet," he muttered. "The night's not over."

The waiter returned with the glasses and bottle. Tommy took them, carefully tucking the glasses by their delicate stems between his fingers and the bottle in his other hand. He shook his head, clearly amazed. "I really thought you would all be upset."

"It's not exactly great news," Robert grumbled.

"I really liked Sara," Moira said. "I thought you were happy."

"Now, let's not dwell," Oliver said. He caught Tommy's shoulders and steered him forward. "The longer you drag this out the harder it will be, the longer you keep Felicity waiting."

Tommy dragged his feet. "I really should tell her where —"

"I told you. I'll handle that. Let's go."

Tommy let Oliver maneuver him through the crowd, out of the banquet room, down the hall, and to the exit where the valet ran off to fetch Tommy's Porsche. A small group of Queen Consolidated employees smiled as they passed the two men, nodded politely – if not clearly curious – before continuing inside.

"Oh. Hey." Oliver nudged Tommy's side, tipped his head toward the champagne and glasses. "You might not want to be seen waltzing out of here to end this engagement with that in your hand. Wouldn't exactly want Sara or her parents seeing that in the gossip columns."

"Oh. Geez." Tommy shook his head as he slipped the glasses under his tuxedo jacket and tucked each one into a back pocket.   The bottle went into his coat. "Thanks, Oliver. You think of everything." He adjusted his coat. "There. Scandal handled."

"Just remember that the best way to handle these things is quick and mercilessly," Oliver said.

"Oliver, this isn't a corporate raid."

"Same principles."

"No. It's not. It has to be finessed. Eased into. I can't just walk in there, tell her it's over and walk out. That's cruel."

"And lingering for hours before you end the night with a kiss and a 'I want my ring back' isn't?"

"I have more tact than that!"

"Really? Because usually I'm the one you send to conduct these break ups."

"I don't need you to pick up after me, Oliver. I'm a grown man!"

"Who is dumping a fiancé for a woman he met on an airplane a few days ago."

"Ah ha! So you do think I'm making a mistake!"

"I didn't say that."

"But you do! Admit it. You don't like Felicity. You don't like us together. It bugs you that I'm dating someone beneath our station. A lowly computer geek. The daughter of a cocktail waitress. Admit it!"

"Lower your voice," Oliver growled as more people exited the hotel and came down the steps toward them.

"Bite me," Tommy snapped as his bright red Porsche pulled up to the curb. The valet got out and Tommy pointed the champagne bottle at Oliver. "You're jealous that I won't let Mom and Dad run my life. You're pissed that I actually have someone and that someone like Felicity wants me and not you."

Oliver tried not to flinch. "Actually," he said, "you're about to not have someone, then replace her with someone else."

"Shut up, Ollie. I'm doing this. You can't stop me."

"Really? If you get in that car..."

"What?" Tommy demanded, one foot already in the car, his hand curled tight around the door.

Oliver didn't say anything.

"That's what I thought," he snapped. "Good night, Oliver. And thanks for all the help."

And, as Tommy Queen flopped down into the driver's seat, the distinct shatter of very fine Austrian crystal filled the air.

Then came the screams.

 

~*~


	5. In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity finds a friend in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> This is an A/U Olicity fic. As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read.
> 
> Flash Fic Prompt #6: In The Dark

Timbuktu, Felicity decided half an hour after she'd finished her fifth glass of champagne and one-too-many-chocolate dipped strawberries. That's where Tommy Queen went. In a week or so she'd get a postcard – postage courtesy of the Queen Family – from him, gently letting her know some emergency or other had called him away. Regrets. H&Ks. See you around. P.S. Don't call me, I'll call you.

She stopped at the end of the hotel hallway and stared at the Closed sign propped up against the glass door. Rather appropriate, really, since that seemed to be the message the Queen Family wanted to send when it came to her friendship with Tommy. She took a deep breath. The faint smell of chlorine-rich water drafted through her.

She shouldn't really take it personally. It's just how things were. Queens on the executive level, workers below, and several feet of concrete, marble, and glass in-between.   She knew that. Her mother drilled it into her every day of her life.

The rich were different. Money made them different. It gave them a power and a position that would allow them to roll around in bed with people like her, sure, but never bring them home to meet mom and dad. Her mother hadn't said any of it to be cruel. In her own way she was simply sharing wisdom gained by age and experience. She merely wanted to protect Felicity from a world that would take advantage of her.

After all, if there existed, in the United States, an open-twenty-four-hours-a-day school of hard knocks, that school was Las Vegas. It might be America's playground, but it was also the height of Greed of all kind – personal, financial, emotional, and sexual.

Felicity touched the glass that separated her from the sign.

"Screw it." She caught the door handle and pulled, more than a little surprised when it yielded. She glanced over her shoulder, certain a hotel security guard would come rushing around the corner to stop her.

Who the hell cared if they did? Not her. Not tonight. Tonight was all about breaking rules, kicking metaphorical sand in people's faces, and saying, _Hey! Felicity Smoak won't be pushed around anymore_.

She slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind her.

As hotel pools went, the Starling City Plaza's spared no expense. The walkway meandered through exotic blooms and towering trees. Water tumbled over the edge of a man-made waterfall, into a tumbling stream that snaked off into the dark and, Felicity assumed, emptied into the swimming pool at the other end.

She followed the water's course, rounded another curve, and the greenery fell away to reveal turquoise water. The illumination of the underwater lights extended beyond the surface and the faint, rolling mist that spoke of almost tropically-warm water. The glow reflected up to the glass ceiling, which bounced it back down to cast shimmering ripples of white across the deck.

Felicity closed her eyes and let the sound of gently lapping water wash over her. Too bad it couldn't carry reality away, too. She was, and would always be, a waitress' daughter. She'd gotten that look when she applied to M.I.T., again from a dozen professors and probably a hundred students, again when she applied to Queen Consolidated. Once more when she showed up in Paris. No one really cared about accomplishments. They still judged her for where she came from, and she refused to be ashamed of that or the mother that busted her ass every day to put food on the table for her kid.

A faint scratching sound had Felicity opening her eyes, followed by a click, a spark, and the faint glow of a match on the other side of the pool. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the shadows and pick out the shape of someone sitting on one of the faux boulders.

Felicity retreated. "Oh. Sorry." Her voice seemed to bounce in a thousand directions at once. "I-I didn't see the sign."

The match winked out. The tip of a cigarette burned orange in the darkness as the smoker took a long drag. There was a heartbeat of silence before they exhaled, then said, "If you didn't see it," the other woman said, "how could you know there was a sign to even see?"

"I… Oh. Good point."

The woman hopped down from the stone and wandered closer to the pool's edge. The light slid over her, drawing attention to her bare feet a second before she dropped her black high heels to the ground with a clatter.

Not a woman. A teenager, Felicity corrected herself as she took in the willowy looking brunette. Maybe, what? Nineteen? Unlike Felicity, she'd left her hair down. Like Felicity, though, she wore a dress fit for the Queen gathering. Hers, however, was short, ending just above the knee, and black. 

She looked vaguely familiar too, which was odd. Of course, since Felicity had been out of the country for almost two years, it wasn't surprising she didn't recognize her. Maybe she'd seen her around the office. Bring Your Daughter To Work Day or something.

The girl regarded Felicity with a cocked head as she took another slow drag on the cigarette. She released it with a puff. "I'll tell you what. I'll make you a deal. I won't rat you out to the Queens or hotel security if you don't say anything about this," she said, indicated the smoke.

Felicity bit back every smoking-causes-cancer-you're-gonna-die lecture that sprang into her head. She managed a shrug. "It doesn't bother me. Pretty much everybody in France smokes."

"You're from France? Where's your accent? Or beret. Aren't French people supposed to have one or the other? Isn't it, like, a law or something?"

Felicity laughed. "I was only there for about a year. I just got back, actually."

"I've never been. Not yet, anyway. The minute I turn eighteen though… Gone."

Wow. Much younger than Felicity first thought. Almost a whole decade younger than she was. The kid was barely driving, not old enough to vote or drink. Felicity frowned at the cigarette. Definitely not old enough to be smoking. What idiot even bought them for her?

"So what are you doing in here?" the girl pressed. "Need a break from the stuffed shirts and boredom? I swear I don't even know half the music they're playing."

"It got a little overwhelming. So you're… a guest?"

The girl shrugged as she lowered herself to the edge of the pool and dangled her feet in the water. "I guess. Sort of. My dad tells me it's my job to be here and pretend to be part of the whole Queen Consolidated Family thing." She flicked ash away. "Frankly I think it's a load of crap. Nobody believes it. The Queens are all uptight rich people pretending to be the common man while the common man just tries not to humiliate themselves by using the wrong fork or get fired. It's all just a stupid waste of time."

Felicity stepped out of her shoes. She rucked her skirt up and to the side so she could sit. The tile edge was rough against the back of her knees but the water – so warm it was like bath water – flowed like silk around her feet and calves. She sighed in bliss as she curled her fingers around the pool's edge and wiggled her toes beneath the waves.

"It does feel like everybody's watching, just waiting for you to screw up, doesn't it." Felicity murmured.

"Shhhya," the girl snorted, like duh. "Half the time I think my dad's relieved when I pitch a fit to get out of coming. I think I embarrass him. Like I go around smelling my armpit or something."

Felicity laughed.

The girl eyed her as she took another drag off the cigarette. "What about you?" She blew a series of circles into the air. "What's your deal?"

"Paste eater."

The girl blinked.

Felicity flicked her foot underwater, kicking droplets of water into the air to rain back down again. "Kidding. I'm…" She hunched her shoulders, let them drop. "Smart."

"Ouch."

"That sounded really… That's not how I meant it."

"Hey. No." She waved it away. "I totally get it. We all have our thing. It just sucks when you want to be yourself and everybody…"

"Judges you for it," Felicity finished for her when the other woman trailed off.

"Exactly."

Felicity stared at the bottom of the pool as she went back to stirring the water with her feet. "You want to know why I'm really in here?" She took the silence as confirmation. Her mouth twisted to one side. "My boss is a jerk."

"Which one is this? The ass-grabber in Applied Sciences, that dick that head's up Accounting, or that guy with, like, four wives my dad hates in Transportation?"

"No. _The_ boss. The CEO. Oliver Queen."

"Uh-oh. You're on his bad side?"

"Does he have a good side? Because so far? I haven't seen it."

"What happened?"

So Felicity told her. All of it. The whole story. The elevator incident. The banishment to Paris. The return. Meeting Tommy on the plane and liking the guy. Honestly liking him and seeing a potential friend – one of which, she didn't add, she didn't have very many of Stateside.

The girl mulled the story over through hooded eyes. Her cigarette was half finished before she withdrew it from between her lips and tapped more ash away. "Sounds like a real prick."

"He is." Felicity shifted on the unforgiving deck that was pressing sequins and beads into her butt and making it hurt. "Except he isn't. Gah! This is so frustrating." She rubbed her forehead. "I mean, it burns my ass that he judges me. I mean…" She pressed her hand to her chest. "He looks at me and I can feel him judging me."

"Been there."

"Everybody walks in fear of the Great Oliver Queen. He's arrogant and distant and clearly thinks he's better than everybody else. I've never once known the guy to socialize – truly sit down and talk to – his employees. Even at parties like this one. He's always off to the side. By himself. Never talking to anybody with a bank balance under five figures."

"You have that much in your account?"

"Hardly," Felicity scoffed. "I have this thing for shoes."

The girl sat up straighter. "Me, too!"

"Paris? Not the place for shoe-a-holics."

"I _live_ for Gianmarco Lorenzi."

"I have a pair!"

The girl rocked forward so far Felicity thought she'd pitch herself into the pool. "Get out!"

"They're gorgeous. Downside?" She shrugged. "They pinch my toes. I can never wear them." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. "Do you want them?"

"Are you serious?"

"Sure. Why not? They're just sitting in my luggage. I couldn’t bear to leave them behind." Felicity tucked an errant strand curl behind her ear. "I can leave them with your dad. He can bring them home for you."

"Wow. Thanks."

Felicity shrugged.

"I don't see why your boss doesn't like you. You seem nice enough to me."

Felicity couldn't help it. She grunted.

"Is he really that awful?" the girl asked.

She sighed. "That's the thing. I don't… I don't know. Before tonight, I would have said he rebuffed social invitations from his employees in favor of researching advances in alloys because he thought those people were beneath him. That he didn't bother to attend the employee Thank You party at the Queen Mansion… you know the one, right after that big merger a few years ago?"

The girl nodded.

"Because he didn't value what they did. I mean, the guy went to some gun range in town to shoot up some new plastic QC developed instead of thanking his workers for busting their asses to make that merger happen."

"But?"

Felicity shook her head before tipping her head back to stare at the glass dome and the starlight sky above. "The world looks at Oliver Queen and sees a strong, successful, power, confident man. I saw an arrogant, pampas jackass who thought he was better than everybody else and felt he could use his wealth and power to manipulate and control others."

"Well, that certainly sounds right given your experience."

"That's the thing." Felicity straightened and looked at her. "Tonight I... heard something that made me look at him differently."

"Ooh, gossip on a Queen. Imagine my shock."

"No. Not that. It was… You know there are two Queen sons, right?"

The girl nodded.

"Well Oliver was talking to Tommy, that's his brother, and an old story about some childhood vacation came up and I just..." Felicity stopped herself. Oddly it felt like too private a story to share with someone else, especially when she was sure Oliver had been distinctly uncomfortable during its retelling.

Felicity sighed. "It made me think that maybe he didn't keep himself apart from his employees because he thinks he's better but because it's hard for him to open up and let people get to know who he really is. Maybe those perfunctory 'thanks for coming' handshakes are his way of protecting himself from getting to know people and caring too much because he's the guy who has to make hard decisions. Like these layoff rumors."

That head tilt came back as the girl's lashes slipped down. "There are lay off rumors?"

Felicity nodded. "I heard several while I was overseas. It's not a secret Queen Consolidated hasn't performed to projections in awhile. It's strapping itself financially for research. It's making analysts nervous. So maybe he protects himself."

"Wow. You got all that from a story? Must have been one hell of a tale."

"It wasn't so much the story as…" Felicity hesitated, unsure what it was. The defensiveness? The protective posture? The way Oliver Queen looked when Tommy mocked him for his talents?

Before Felicity would have looked at him and seen a man incapable of just kicking back and having fun who'd been an equally serious child born with a bowtie and a calculator in one hand and a stock report in the other. Now when she looked at him, when she thought of him, she kept seeing that look that flashed over his face before he could hide it. That flash of hurt when Tommy ribbed him.

She saw herself, Felicity admitted with a heavy sigh. She saw loneliness and fear and walls built high after years of mockery and emotional hurts pride would never allow be acknowledged.

"Maybe he did me a favor," Felicity murmured.

"How's that?"

Felicity blinked at the other girl, suddenly remembering she was there. She squared her shoulders. "Being sent to Paris forced me out of my comfort zone. The job forced me to learn to interact with people, talk to them, and listen and let some of my own walls down. I learned to show people my true self." She smiled as fond memories of happy times filled her. "I made a lot of good friends there, too. People who like me for me and aren't nice to me just because they want something, like cleaning the porn off their work computer before the boss finds it."

The girl laughed.

"It sucks to never know if people want you for you," Felicity continued, "or just because of what you can do for them."

Her laughter faded as quickly as it started and she turned somber. "Yes," she said, sounding suddenly far too old. "It does."

The sound of a door opening made both of them glance reflectively toward the atrium's entrance.

Shoes scuffed across concrete, just a few steps, before silence fell again.

The two women glanced at each other.

"Felicity?" Oliver Queen called out. "Are you in here?"

The girl's eyes went round. "Oh, shit," she hissed. She ground the cigarette out against the concrete before she flicked the butt away. She scrambled up, splashing water everywhere and probably soaking her skirt and bottom before she could get to her feet.

Felicity didn't budge. She wasn't a kid anymore and she was done running from Oliver Queen.

The girl swept her shoes up, clutched them to her chest as she backed away into the shadows and, presumably, another exit door. "Remember our deal," she whispered.

Felicity crooked her pinky in the air and the girl flashed a bright, relieved smile before she turned and darted away just as Oliver Queen turned the bend in the walkway.

"There you are," he said. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Why?" Felicity asked, still not getting up. She kicked her feet lazily beneath the water. "Is there a flight leaving for Siberia in the next hour?"

His smile was small and a bit contrite. "No. Actually, It's the opposite." He held up two champagne flutes tucked between the fingers of one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. "I’m here to apologize."

 

~*~

[Read More About the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/85950138689/getting-through-the-break-olicity-flash-fiction)


	6. Illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver tries to handle the problem of Felicity Smoak and things get... slippery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> This is an A/U Olicity fic. As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read.
> 
> Flash Fic Prompt #7: Illusions

Oliver didn't believe in fairy tales but, if he did, they would probably look like the Starling City Plaza's pool atrium. Moonlight streamed through the leaves of towering palms to cast puddles of silver across the deck while the lights beneath the pool water radiated up and out, illuminating everything around it, including the beads and sequins of Felicity Smoak's dress and odd sparkling highlights in her hair. It turned her flesh ivory and her eyes to glowing topaz.

Wisps of steam rose up from the heated water's surface, rolling along the water's surface, to the pool's edge where Felicity Smoak sat. Soft, ghostly tendrils of it twined around her hands and wrists as if she were somehow part of the enchantment; a siren lured back to the call of the sea.

A siren's beauty, however, Oliver reminded himself as he approached the pool with champagne glasses and the bottle, was part of her deadly illusion. Get too close, listen too long, and all purpose was lost. Doom quickly followed.

But he, too, was capable of weaving the occasional spell or two, and all he needed to do was distract Felicity long enough, build just the right illusion, and seal her fate. Tommy and Sara's engagement would go on. The merger would go through. Queen Consolidated would survive. Everyone would be happy.

Oliver glanced at the champagne glasses and then Felicity again. Well, almost everyone. It wasn't pretty, but it was necessary, and business was business.

Felicity braced a hand against the cement behind her and turned toward him. She drew one leg from the water and folded it in front of her against the deck. Water sluiced off the slender limb, leaving the length of it – from mid-thigh to the tips of her toes – wet and dotted with glistening beads. Droplets dripped from her toes, back into the pool with tiny plinks.

She tipped her head to the side. "Apologize? You?"

"Is it that inconceivable?" He set the flutes down on the low rise diving board. It took only a few seconds to strip the gold foil away and, as he loosened the muselet from around the cork, he said, "Yes. From Tommy."

"Ah. From Tommy." She returned her attention to the pool, gave the foot still in the water a slow pump that sent ripples up to the surface. "Yes, I had a feeling."

"Really?" He tightened his grip on the bottle and twisted. The cork came free with a sharp pop. Oliver filled one glass, then the other. He slanted Felicity a sideways glance. "Tommy isn't usually known for abandoning lovely women at parties. Quite the opposite, actually."

"Yes, but we both know I'm different."

He stood next to her and held a glass out to her. "Are you?"

"Mmhmm." She wrinkled her nose. "I don't know that I should take that."

"It's an excellent vintage. Tommy wouldn't have it any other way."

"Yes, I'm sure it is, but I've already exceeded my normal limit."

"I thought France was wine, wine, wine all the time? Didn't they teach you drink while they were teaching you to live?"

She accepted the glass but placed it next to her instead of sipping it. "Before France I was a one glass girl."

"And after?"

"Three or four."

"How many does this make tonight?"

She looked down at the glass as bubbles streamed to the top. "Five. No. Six. I don't know."

"Well, it is a party."

She tipped her head back to peer up at him. Soft, curling tendrils of blond hair had come loose during the course of the evening and now framed her face. "I thought it was an apology."

"It can't be both?"

"Are we celebrating the apology or apologizing for the celebration?"

Oliver picked up his glass and leaned against the diving board. Somehow, even slightly tipsy, Felicity Smoak could stay on her verbal feet. "Tommy had a slight accident."

The teasing light in her eye dimmed. She lowered the glass. "Oh, no. Is he all right?"

"Nothing a few stitches and some Vicodin won't cure."

"Stitches? What happened?"

"He had an unfortunate run-in with some champagne glasses." Oliver grimaced and scratched his cheek. "Apparently they are very sharp."

"Is anyone… Shouldn't someone be at the hospital with him?"

"My parents went with him. I was assigned host duties. And apology service."

"That's ridiculous. You should be there. You're his brother." Felicity scrambled to her feet, sending up a spray of water as she did. Her skirt swished back into place, secreting away those fantastic legs. She turned in a circle. "My shoes. Where did I put…" She stopped suddenly, closed her eyes as she lifted a hand to her head. "Whoa."

Oliver stepped forward as she swayed back. He caught her elbow and steered her away from the pool's edge with a hand at her back. He propped her against the diving board but didn't release her. "Better?"

She nodded even as she pushed at him. "I'm fine. Go."

"Don't be ridiculous. Tommy's a grown man. My parents are there." He looked at her left hand, no longer pushing at him but simply pressed against his shirt front. Her fingers were slender. The nails painted a demure, slightly glittery taupe. All except one. That finger – the fourth – had small, hot pink dots across it. There was no ring on that finger either.

Suddenly Oliver was aware of her hip against him, of her soft flesh beneath his palm, and the warmth of her body as it seeped through the fabric of her gown, into the hand he still had at the base of her spine.

He should step back. Right now. Stop touching her.

He did neither.

His bow tie felt oddly tight.

"Tommy will be fine," he assured her. "I'm sure his fiancée will be there too. She'll take good care of him."

Felicity swayed toward him. The hand against his chest tensed.

"Her name is Sara," Oliver said, feeling stupid and awkward. "You…did know Tommy's engaged, right?"

"Of course. He showed me her picture on the plane. She's very pretty."

"Very. Very accomplished, too."

"Very wealthy. Very established," Felicity said, drawing out the word that said she either had a hard time pronouncing it or was somewhat bitter about the other woman's social hierarchy. "Very important and respectable. I bet her mother was never a waitress."

"No. Her mother was never a waitress."

She sighed.

"I'm curious about something." Oliver brushed a curl of hair away from her temple. "If you knew Tommy was engaged… Why?"

She tilted her head back and blinked up at him. Those blue eyes – not topaz, Oliver corrected himself, more Tanzanite – were definitely cloudy and soft from alcohol.

"Why what?" she murmured.

"Why here? Don't you think it would be inappropriate to wander off alone with him?"

Light sparkled through those clouds and amusement curved her mouth. "First, I didn't wander off alone with him. I wandered off alone with myself. Second, did we time warp to 1814? Because I think I'm showing more than a bit of ankle tonight."

Oliver couldn't help it. He looked at her breasts. He cleared his throat and jerked his attention back to her face. "You think it's Victorian to care about his reputation and the commitment he made to another woman?

"No."

"Oh. Good."

"No, I mean, 1814 is Georgian, not Victorian. The Victorian era didn't officially start until 1837. I remember because that's when Queen Victoria —"

"Felicity?"

Her lashes slipped down and her mouth softened. "Hmm?"

"I love my brother. His happiness is important to me. I don't want him to do something reckless that will ruin that. Do you understand?"

Those thick lashes lifted. The fuzzy, unfocused look left her eyes and that mouth – that soft, pink, lush mouth – thinned. She leaned away from him but couldn't go far with the diving platform behind her. "Are you asking me if I'm trying to seduce your brother away from his fiancée?"

"What if I was?"

"What if _I_ was? Is that why you're here, Oliver Queen? Did they send you?"

"They?"

"Yes. They. Your parents. Society. Whoever. Did they send you to chase off the unsuitable woman before Thomas Queen lowered himself to my class?"

"What if they did? What would you say?"

Her chin notched up. "I guess I would ask… How much?"

 

~*~

[Read more about the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/85950138689/getting-through-the-break-olicity-flash-fiction)


	7. Nothing To Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity gets an offer that could make her rich but pretty soon Oliver realizes he's in over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> This is an A/U Olicity fic. As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read.
> 
> Flash Fic Prompt #8: Nothing To Hide

How much? Felicity's question hung in the air as Oliver's stomach soured. Mercenary he was used to. He couldn't count the number of women he'd paid to ease Tommy's transition out of their relationships, or the number of hundreds he'd had to peel off before greed overcame scruples. How dumb was he to expect something different from this one?

Oddly, he realized he'd wanted to believe something different from her. Something… better. Which was completely ridiculous. He didn't care. Why would he? Felicity Smoak was nothing to him. Nothing to Tommy. The sooner Oliver got her out of both their lives, the sooner things went back to normal and he could focus on what really mattered. The merger.

Felicity arched an eyebrow. "So? How much would you pay me to go?"

"How much would it take?"

Her eyes narrowed, just for a second, but then it vanished, replaced with a smile that seemed flat. She ticked her index finger at him. "Oooh, that's bad negotiating, Mr. Queen. Don't you know you should never be the first to show your cards?"

"A million dollars."

She laughed. Oliver didn't.

"Two million."

Felicity studied his face for a moment before she sighed, straightened his tie, then patted his chest. "No self-respecting waitress' daughter would take it."

"What if I said three million?"

"The answer would still be no." She slipped away from him, taking his abandoned champagne flute with her. She drained it with one long sip before pivoting on her bare foot to face him. "Does that surprise you, Mr. Queen?"

"That you have respect for yourself?" He considered it before shaking his head. "No. It doesn't."

"You say you love your brother."

"I do."

She stared into the empty glass. "He can't be very happy with his engagement if you're worried about him throwing it all away for someone like me. Shouldn't he have the right to back out if he wants? If that makes him happy?"

"Tommy is in love with Sara."

"Yet you're worried he'll sneak off behind a fern and make out with me. Interesting."

"It's cold feet. He's doing the right thing."

Her head cocked to the side. "Why? Because it's what you want him to do? Haven't you ever had cold feet, Oliver Queen?"

"I couldn't say. I've never been married."

"But you've been in love."

Oliver shifted. "I don't know."

It was the truth. Oh, he'd dated. He'd been serious about some women more than others. He liked the company of women as much as any man. He was human. But love? Find a woman he could imagine spending the rest of his life with? No.

"Hmm," Felicity murmured. "No. I imagine not."

Oliver jammed his hands into his pockets. "Let me guess. You don't consider me husband material?"

She came back to the board and picked up the champagne bottle. As she refilled the glass – all the way to the top – she said, "I see several immediate problems. That's what I'm paid for, by the way. To assess situations, identify problems, formulate solutions, and apply according."  She watched the last few drops of booze drip from the bottle's neck. "One. The wife would have to know she came second, if not third, to the company at all times. No woman wants to feel like she shares her martial bed with thirty stories of concrete. Two. If you argue? She'll get very tired of being sent to France as punishment."

Oliver started to argue, but Felicity ignored him.

"And three."  She set the bottle down and plucked the flute up, sloshing a bit of champagne over the rim. She frowned at the ground. "Three. Love and marriage are about emotion. About love. Not logic. I think that's why you can't understand Tommy. Tommy is all about emotion. Feeling and fun and happiness. While you are the opposite. In fact, I bet you've never backed out or changed your mind about anything. Ever." She made quick circles with her hand at the side of her head. "Figures in. Figured out. Like a calculator."

Oliver had his jaw clenched so tight it started to hurt. He forced it to relax. "I prefer spreadsheets."

"Same difference. You're night and day. I bet if Tommy was here, right now, with one of his women, he'd be sipping champagne and skinny dipping."

Oliver recoiled. "Do you know what people do in public pools?"

She sighed before taking another long hit from the glass. When she lowered it, she licked her lips. Her gaze wandered over him. "When was the last time you went skinny dipping, Oliver?"

"You first."

She set the glass down hard enough to make the crystal ring. Her fingers went to the side zipper of her gown. "Say the word, Queen."

"You'd do it, too, wouldn't you."

Her hand dropped away as she sighed a sad sigh. "And you wouldn't." She swept the glass up again and wandered away from him to trail along the side of the pool. "How very sad for you."

"You don't get to where I am by doing stupid things."

"Yes, yes, and you're very important. CEO. Queen Consolidated." Her back still to him, she flipped her hand in the air to make a quaky duck bill with her hand. "Blah, blah, blah. That and coconut will get you a coconut."

"Why would I want a coconut?"

Felicity dipped her toe into the water with her next step. "What do you want?" She twisted to point at him. "And I don't mean mergers and acquisitions and more billions for the coffers. What makes you happy?"

Oliver scoffed. "Happy. Why is everybody fixated on happy? You know what happiness means?"

"Hmmm." She swished her skirt back and forth as the water lapped over the edge of the pool to lick at her toes. She wiggled the digits. "Puppies?"

Wow. Okay, yeah. Future reference: cut her off at three glasses.

Oliver pushed his fingers through his hair. "Selfishness, self-indulgence, and irresponsibility. Being 'happy' is the excuse Tommy pulls out whenever he wants to duck a responsibility. Like when he decided going to Fiji with an actress from some B-movie about a cheerleader bitten by a radioactive rabbit that turns her into some horny mutant made him 'happier' than standing by his promise to participate in a charity bachelor auction for kids with cancer."

Felicity stilled. Her dress settled back into place. The atrium fell silent minus the gentle slosh of water as it rose and fell.

Oliver swore under his breath and put his back to her. He braced his hands against the diving board, the no-slip surface rough under his hands. "And who covered his ass? Me. Nobody cared if I was happy because I don't get to _be_ happy. I get to be responsible for the thousands of people we employ. I get to fix Tommy's messes. So that means I make do with content. I find satisfaction in the job that I do. That's my life, and that's how the real world works."

He was breathing hard, he realized. His hands were unsteady. And there was anger in him. Resentment. How could there not be? Tommy was the funny one. Tommy was the charming one. Tommy was the one everybody patted on the head with that shrug of what-can-you-do-that's-just-the-way-he-is smile. Meanwhile Oliver went to the office. Oliver learned the business. Oliver went to a top college, graduated at the top of the class, and stepped into the CEO position when his father wanted to step out. Tommy was in Cancun the first time Oliver sat in the big leather chair. Three hours later he was bailing Tommy out of jail following a bar fight. That pretty much set the pattern for every year since.

He loved his brother. He did. But damn it, once -- just once -- he wanted his brother to step up, keep his word, and follow through on something. He wanted Tommy to once – just once – put someone before himself the way he did. The way he'd always done. Just fucking one time he wanted Tommy to shoulder some of the responsibilities he'd been shouldering all his damned life. Was that so unfair?

A hand touched his back. Oliver stiffened.

Felicity eased closer, barely shifting into his peripheral vision. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"I'm a calculator, remember? All logic. No feelings. Don't worry about it."

Instead of retreating, she moved even closer. "It's just… Oliver, you're not Tommy."

Oliver let out a short, sharp laugh. Yeah. He knew that too. Not Tommy. Not as attractive, not as charming, not the one women fawned over. He was the quiet son. The dutiful son. He was the smart one. Tommy was the athletic one. He was the serious one. Tommy was the clown. The family's sighs of, "Oh, Tommy, now what have you done?" were inevitably followed by, "Don't be like Tommy, Oliver. Your parents deserve one son they can be proud of."

"Thanks a lot," he grumbled.

"No. That's not what I..." Felicity shifted to stand facing him. Her hand slipped to his forearm while the other covered one of his on the diving board. Oliver stared at it.

"I didn't mean it like that," she told him. "Everybody is their own person, free to live their own life, Oliver."

"Not everybody."

"That's not true. You have a right to be happy. The people who love you would want that for you. If you're not happy, change it. Find a way to be happy."

Oliver studied her face. "Like you did in Paris?"

"Paris. Rome. Hell, Ohio. Wherever you need go. You'll be amazed where you'll find yourself."

He took a deep breath and shook his head. "I can't do that. People need me here. They count on me. I can't just leave."

"If not now, then when? There will always be another emergency. Another fire for Oliver Queen to put out. Another merger that has to be made. Trust me, I know. We find a lot of excuses to keep ourselves in the cubicles we create for ourselves. It's funny, really. Everyone thinks of you ruling the world from the top floor of Queen Consolidated when, in reality, it seems to be keeping you a prisoner."

Her hand was still on his. Oliver shifted his pinky over her fingertips, stroked that one, hot pink dotted nail. "You know what Tommy would say?"

"What?"

"He'd say screw it and do exactly what he wanted, engagement or not. He'd throw files in the air and walk out in a parade of paper." He lifted his head. "He'd say fate put you in the seat next to him as a sign to re-examine his life. That he enjoys your company because you make him laugh. That he finds you… interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Challenging."

"Ah." She gave a knowing nod. "Your brother enjoys a challenge, does he?"

Actually, Tommy didn't. Tommy found confidence in sure things. He never liked to play against someone he knew he wouldn't beat, never hit on a girl he thought might turn him down, and never befriended anyone he couldn't charm into agreeing with him. The funny thing was, Felicity Smoak didn't fit any of those categories. Hell, Oliver had a feeling Tommy'd get a charley horse just trying to keep up with her. 

He, on the other hand, loved a challenge. The maneuvering, the countermoves. Thinking three steps ahead only to find his opponent was ahead by five. There was something satisfying about finding someone he could spar with on every level. Even in the rare instances where he lost, he took pride in worthy competition.

If he ever met Felicity Smoak over a negotiations table, Oliver had a feeling he'd need to think eight steps ahead. And damned if he didn't like that. A lot.

Felicity's attention seemed to dip to his mouth. "What else would he say?"

"That you looked beautiful tonight. Because you do." He stepped closer. His hand slipped out from beneath hers and lifted to her face. He cupped her cheek, his fingertips sliding into the delicate hair at her nape as he lowered his mouth to hers.

She tasted like decadence. Like strawberries, champagne, and rich, dark chocolate. Oliver moved closer, or maybe he'd tugged her to him with the arm that was somehow around her waist. Her legs brushed his, her hips his thighs, and her breasts… Oliver groaned as he pulled her tighter against him and those soft breasts flattened against his chest.

For a moment – a brief, crazy, impossibly hot moment – she was kissing him back. Then suddenly she wasn't. She was out of his arms, backing away a step… two steps… her fingers pressed against her mouth, her eyes wide.

What the hell had he done? More importantly _why_ had he done it? No, he knew why. The merger. He needed her away from Tommy to save the merger. This was the simplest way. Not the kindest, but then he'd never been that. This was business. This was the future of Queen Consolidated. It made total sense.

"Sorry," Oliver said. His voice was unusually husky and low. His heart beat far too fast in his chest. He absently moistened his lips and tasted that same seductive mix of be sweet berries and slightly acidic wine, both tamed by deep cacao. "I forgot. That's part of Tommy's apology, too."

She went ashen. A second later her eyes flashed, returning the color to her cheeks. Oliver had no chance to brace himself before she shot forward, planted both hands against his chest and shoved. 

Oliver never knew exactly what happened – maybe he was closer to the pool's edge than he realized, maybe his shoes slipped on the water-slick deck – whatever it was, he toppled backward, his feet shot out from under him, and a second later he hit the water with a slap and sank.

He surfaced easily. Since this section of the pool was only five feet deep, he planted his ruined, water-filled shoes against the bottom and stood. Water slapped at his neck and jaw as he wiped a hand over his face. When he opened his eyes, he was in time to see Felicity grab her shoes, turn tail, and run.

 

~*~

[Read More About the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/85950138689/getting-through-the-break-olicity-flash-fiction)


	8. Sleepless Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning, and a call from France, helps Felicity see a few things -- Oliver Queen included -- in a new light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an Alternate Universe flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read. Oh and this one? Yeah, this one is definitely going to be a multi-part story.

The bright, far-too-happy chirp of Felicity's iPad drilled through her covers, non-allergenic pillow, and straight into her skull like a sledgehammer wielded by sadistic bluebirds. Groaning, she fumbled for the nightstand with one hand while dragging her pillow more firmly over her ears with the other.

It took her a moment, but she managed to locate the tablet, snag it, and pull it over to the bed. She dropped it flat on the corner of the mattress. Experience enabled her to guesstimate the location of the green button on the screen, and she tapped at the smooth plastic until the ringing stopped. Blessed silence filled her apartment bedroom for about three seconds.

"Bonjour, Félicité!" Marie Degarmo greeted, her French accent lending each syllable a lush sing-song that made Felicity instantly crave Pain au chocolat and a café au lait. Her stomach rolled, making her groan again. Okay. Maybe just the coffee.

"Felicity?" Marie called again. This time worry honed a sharper edge to her tone. "Ça va?"

Sighing, she dragged the tablet up and propped it against the headboard. After aiming the webcam for what she hoped was the general vicinity of her head, she flapped her hand at the tablet in a half-hearted wave.

"You're still in bed? It's after four here."

Cheek flat against the cool sheet beneath her, Felicity cracked one eye open to check the alarm clock. Yep. Marie was right. Four in Paris. Early morning in Starling City.   By now she's normally taken her run along the Seine, showered, grabbed a table for them at the little café on the corner, had breakfast, and read the paper. Of course, she wasn't usually this hung over either.

Felicity yawned as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. She raked her tangle of wild, curly hair away from her face. "Morning," she managed on a wide yawn.

Her best friend smiled at her from the tablet screen. As usual, Marie looked fresh and bright. Her dark eyes somehow managed to look sunny, her short black hair tousled in that way that showed a skilled hand, and her lipstick that classic bold red most French women loved. She raised a cup of espresso for a sip, eyed Felicity over the rim before she set it down. She leaned closer to the screen. "That must have been some night last night. You look…"

Felicity stilled. She wiped her hand over her mouth just in case she'd drooled in her sleep, winced when she felt lines on her cheek from where apparently she'd slept hard on the crumbled linens. At least with FaceTime, there was no morning breath to worry about.

Marie chuckled. She rested her arms on the edge of her dining room table. "Was it that good of a party?"

Felicity grimaced.

Her shoulders drooped. "Oh, no. It went bad? How did it go bad? You had a plan! You were going to walk into that party, tall and strong," she said, clenching her into a rebellious fist and waving it in the air. "You were going to show Oliver Queen you weren't afraid of him. That he couldn't push you around anymore!"

Felicity released a miserable moan. "Oh, please don't use the word 'push.'"

"Did he fire you? Oh, mon Dieu, he fired you! Ugh!" She covered her eyes with a hand. "Felicity. We talked about this before you left. We rehearsed exactly what to say and what not to say if you didn't want him to —"

"He didn't fire me."

Marie paused. She peeked through her fingers. "No?"

"No."

She dropped her hand. "Then why are you so —"

"I kissed him!" Felicity blurted out.

Marie blinked. She cocked her head. "Quo?"

"I kissed him." She frowned before she shook her head. "I mean, he kissed me." She groaned again and massaged a throbbing temple. "Oh, what does it matter. We kissed."

"What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't! That's the problem!" Felicity propped herself up on her elbows. "There was food and music and dancing and…"

"That's what happens at a party, chéri."

"And champagne."

A knowing smile curved Marie's mouth. She eased back in her chair. "Ah. I see. So you went there to this party… to Oliver Queen… to make war and instead…" Her smile curved into a wide grin, "you made love." She chuckled. "Perhaps you are more French than you realize."

"It wasn't… We didn't…" Felicity gave up. She didn't know what 'it' was. She only knew she liked it. Her lips tingled at the memory of Oliver's mouth on hers and she absently touched them. She'd never had the perfect kiss before. Just the right amount of pressure. Just the right amount of tender. He'd taken her off guard. Maybe that's why she'd reacted to it. She'd had no time to think. No time to process. One minute he was there and the next… She touched her bottom lip. He was there. And he was human. A mere mortal, like her.

Somehow Oliver Queen never seemed quite real. He'd always been a bigger than life figure. Sort of a legend. Until last night. Last night she'd glimpsed something real under that egotistical tycoon veneer. Something lost and maybe a little afraid and… lonely.

It had touched something in her -- he'd touched something – because she knew what that was like. She knew how it felt to build a pretense and use that façade to get through life, unscathed, protecting a heart you didn't dare show other people in fear of… Geez. In fear of everything. Humiliation. Mockery. Rejection. Vulnerability. And in some weird moment – by a pool in the dark – the universe had brought one lonely, lost soul together with another for a brief moment of connection.

For a kiss.

Then she'd shoved him in the pool.

"Tell me something," Marie said, interrupting Felicity's thoughts. She leaned forward again, took a quicker sip of her espresso. "How was it?"

"Marie!"

"What? Oh, please. I've seen the man. Oliver Queen's hot."

"And arrogant, and pushy, and opinionated, and —"

"Hot. I once read in Forbes that he swims two hours a day, has a personal trainer to help work off his stress, plays tennis, golf, and Polo. He rides and sails and, last I heard, was working on getting his pilot's license."

"Where does he find time to work?" Felicity muttered.

"So? How was it?"

"It probably would have been very nice if he meant it."

Marie frowned. She returned her cup to its saucer. "What does that mean?"

Felicity grabbed the tablet and brought it with her as she rolled over onto her back. Holding it above her, she said, "It means that, before I pushed him in the pool, he let me know he thinks I'm nothing but a gold-digging whore out to bust up Tommy Queen's engagement and hook him for myself, that's what."

Marie burst out laughing and Felicity couldn't help but smile and feel some of her dark mood lift. Finally, her friend managed to stop. She had a hard time regaining her composure as she wiped her eyes, smudging some of her mascara. "Tommy? That fluff ball?" She giggled again. "Oh, no. No, no."

"That's the part you focused on? I pushed my boss in the pool!"

"Good. It sounds like he deserved it. Did you catch it with your phone?"

Felicity's lips twitched. "No."

"Too bad. You could have made a fortune selling it to tabloids." She shook her head. "Tommy Queen. He's totally not the man for you."

"You don't have to tell me that." Plus he was engaged. Even if the charming, flighty, irresponsible playboy was her type, she didn't poach other people's territories. Besides, her mother had always warned her: a man who'll screw around on his wife with you is a man who'll screw around on you as his wife.

"And they say Oliver Queen has good instincts." Marie made a rude noise as she shook her head. "Anyone with any instincts knows you'd never be romantically interested in Tommy. He's… candy floss."

"Excuse me?"

"You know. Candy floss. What do you call it? Cotton Candy? Great fun. Colorful. Sweet. A total indulgence you know is bad for you. But he lacks substance, and before you know it? Poof. Gone. Vanishes like he was never there, leaving behind a sticky mess to clean up."

Felicity winced. Poor Tommy. The assessment, however, was pretty accurate, and he'd only himself to blame for that one.

Marie shook her head, still clearly insulted on Felicity's behave. "You'd never fall for that kind of shallow beyond harmless fun. Oliver's a much better match for you."

"Whoa. I'm not looking for a match!"

"I'm just saying you could do worse." She reached for a pen and a piece of paper, started to scribble. "I hadn't heard Tommy was engaged. I'll have to send him a butter dish."

Felicity tucked her hair behind her ear before she scratched it. She shifted. "You, uh, might want to hold off on that."

The pen stilled. Marie slanted a look at the webcam from beneath her furrowed brow. "Uh oh. Trouble in paradise?"

"I don't know. Oliver seems very worried I'm going to muck up the engagement somehow." She frowned as she drew her legs up and rested her feet flat on bed. "I don't really get why."

"Who is this brave fiancée?"

"Um. Sara. Sara… something."

Marie's eyes narrowed. "Lance?"

"That sounds right."

She scoffed. "No wonder he's worried."

"What do you mean?"

"Sara Lance is Quentin Lance's daughter." When Felicity just stared, Marie sighed and rolled her eyes. "Lance, Felicity. The company that —"

"Oh, my God!" Felicity scrambled to sit up. "Lance Enterprises! The company that's beating everyone to the nanomaterial memory market? That Sara Lance?"

"Yes." Marie's amusement faded abruptly. Her mouth pinched and that sunny light vanished from her eyes. "You listen to me, ma biche, and you listen good. Oliver Queen is no chimp. He's ruthless. He knows how to play this game better than anyone, and nothing is ever as it seems with him."

"I appreciate the concern. I do. But you don't have to worry. I am not interested in Oliver Queen."

Marie didn't look convinced. "I just know you were looking for something when you flew back to Starling City. Maybe to prove something to someone. Maybe yourself."

As usual her friend was right. Felicity hadn't admitted it aloud, of course, but she'd needed to come back. She'd needed to look Oliver Queen in the face and let him know – let herself know – that, if she chose to stay in Paris, she was running toward her future, not away from her past. To do that, she had to confront the enemy who'd loomed so large over her life for far too long now. And she'd done it.

It just hadn't gone at all as planned.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Marie asked gently.

Felicity shrugged as she leaned against the headboard behind her. "I don't know. I came back expecting one thing, but now?" She shook her head. "This thing with Tommy."

"Why do you care? Tommy's a big boy, Felicity."

"I know. I do. But it's… I look at him and I see someone being pushed around for the benefit of other people, and it makes me mad. It makes me want to help him."

"We forge our own paths, Felicity. You know this better than most people."

"Maybe." She picked at a loose threat on the comforter. There was no 'maybe' about it, really. She knew her friend was right, and now, having seen Oliver – having glimpsed something in him she didn't expect to find – she had the strangest feeling Tommy wasn't the brother that truly needed help. Felicity tucked her hair behind her ear. "Maybe I know what it's like to be that person. Maybe I know how much it means to have a good friend there to listen."

Marie's eyes warmed again. "I miss you."

Sudden and unexpected tears gathered.  Felicity managed a wobbly smile. "I miss you, too."

"So what are you going to do?  Stay in Starling or come back to France and accept that offer?"

Felicity released a shaky breath. "I don't know."

"I do. I can see it in you already. Come home, Felicity," she urged.

"I am home."

"Just because you were born in America doesn't mean you're home. Your soul belongs in France."

At her friend's words, Felicity's soul seemed to respond, sending a wave of melancholy through her. She missed her little flat and the bakery down the street that always woke her with the smell of baking baguettes. She missed the people and the cafés, the friendly Bonjour! whenever she walked into a shop. She missed Marie and all the other friends she'd made there. But she'd missed Starling City when she'd first moved there, too. That had faded. Wouldn't her homesickness for Paris eventually fade, too?

Marie tsk-ed under her breath, held up her hands. "Je suis désolé. I promised I wouldn't push. I just… I want you to be happy, Felicity. Whatever you decide. Please. Just promise me that's what you'll do."

Felicity took a deep breath and nodded. "I promise."

"That's all I can ask." A buzzer sounded and Marie glanced away, toward the front of her apartment. "Ah, that should be Alix, Fabien, and Lisette. We're going to the markets in Marias and then a picnic." She hesitated. "Would you like to see them? Say hello? They've been asking about you."

The lump in her throat made it hard to speak, so Felicity shook her head.

Sympathy deepened her eyes. "I understand. I will say your hellos for you." She pressed her fingers to her lips, flipped the kiss toward the camera. "Au revoir, Felicity."

"Au revoir," she murmured.

And then the screen went dark.

 

~*~

[Read More About the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/85950138689/getting-through-the-break-olicity-flash-fiction)


	9. Stroke of Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning, and a visit from his sister, helps Oliver solidify his plans for Felicity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an Alternate Universe flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read. Oh and this one? Yeah, this one is definitely going to be a multi-part story.

A sharp poke to his ass abruptly yanked Oliver out of his sleep – a sleep filled with disturbing images of a swimming pool, some champagne, Felicity Smoak, and a distinct lack of clothing. For both of them. Flat on his stomach on his massive California king bed, his arms spread wide and his face smooshed into his pillow, Oliver didn't bother to move.

The poke came again.

He still didn't move, but this time he did say, "Ow."

"Oh. Good. You're awake."

Oliver turned his head and cracked one eye open. His sister, Thea, sat primly in the dark brown leather chair a few feet from the bed. The seventeen year old obviously had been up for hours. She was dressed in full riding gear, from the snug-fitting, short sleeved white shirt to the khaki breeches and black boots. The helmet sat in her lap, the riding crop – the tip of which rested delicately against his left butt cheek – clasped loosely in her hand. Her dark hair was combed back severely against her head and knotted in a bun at the base of her skull. Sometimes he wondered how she could blink with her hair drawn that tight.

Normally the Queen mansion – all forty rooms spread out over six floors and the five hundred sixty-five accompanying acres – was more than enough room for the family to peacefully co-exist. Sometimes though... Oliver shifted and tried to push the last remnants of the dream, a dream that ended with him pressing a very naked, very willing Felicity Smoak against the pool wall and kissing her while she wrapped her legs around his waist, from his mind. Sometimes it felt like there could never be _enough_ distance between family members. Especially on mornings like this. When his sister trounced into his room and he had to pretend not to have a slight case of morning wood.

He eyed his sister. "What are you doing here?"

"Mom wanted me to come in here and make sure you weren't dead."

"I'm not dead."

"Dying?"

"No."

"Sick then."

"Nope."

"Well, that's good because Raisa left for the market twenty-minutes ago and, without her, Mom will try to make you soup." She shuddered. "We all remember what happened last time."

Oliver's stomach rolled. Yes. He remembered. And he remembered his mother's mystified expression when Raisa tried to explain to her why pate, squid ink noodles, and microgreens weren't quite suitable soup ingredients for a grown man with the flu. He could still hear her rather stung, " _But it's still chicken_!" in his ears. At least this morning didn't involve being hunched over a toilet bowl.

Thea tipped her head. Her forehead creased. "You look like hell."

"Thanks."

"Mom's worried."

He sighed. Okay. Clearly his sister wasn't going to take the hint. Careful to keep the covers covering, he rolled over and propped himself up against the headboard. He yawned as he scratched his chest. "What's wrong? Is Tommy talking about the walls moving again?"

"Yes, but she understands now that that's the Vicodin talking. Now she's worried about you." She drew the crop back, started tapping the tip against the leg of her chair. "And I see why."

Oliver paused mid-scratch. "Why?"

"Because you look different. Weird." She glanced at the clock on the heavy wood nightstand. "And because it's nine o'clock in the morning and, instead of having already taken a swim, had breakfast, and made, like, a kajillion dollars betting long or short or," she flicked the crop in the air, let it fall back down to tick against the chair again, "whatever it is you normally do in the morning, you're in here, snoring into a pillow and mumbling in your sleep about strawberries and being wet."

Oliver cleared his throat. His face heated. He rubbed the back of his neck, scrubbed the hand along his jaw. The stubble there burned his palm. "Don't you have a lesson to go to?"

"The lesson starts when I get there, not the other way around."

Spoken like a Queen.

Thea's lips pressed into a tight line. "Mom said Tommy's dumping Sara."

"Mom talks too much," Oliver grumbled.

"Is it true?" The toe of her boot started an agitated bounce. "Cause it would be sad it if it was. I like Sara. Tommy really lucked out when she agreed to date him."

"I like Sara, too."

"You mean you like Sara's dad's _company_ and its patents."

Oliver glowered. "You're too young to be this cynical."

She shrugged and let her attention wander around his room. "I'm an Aquarius. We're observant and wise. Sometimes we build a layer of cynicism to help us cope."

"Wise, huh."

"Uh-huh."

"Then how come you're flunking Calculus?"

"There's a difference between being book smart and being smart." She snapped the crop up to point at him. "And stop trying to change the subject. Is this whole rumpled, off-kilter, break-in-your-routine about what happened last night?"

"What happened last night?" Oliver asked with a scowl as he snagged his smartphone from the table next to the bed. A few taps brought up his schedule. Another tap, his emails. Somehow, despite the extra hours of sleep he'd snagged, the world managed not to spin off its axis and careen into disaster. Amazing.

"Raisa said to tell you that you ruined your tux, by the way. She said it smelled like the pool at the Y. That's gross. "

"How would you know?"

"I read."

He snorted. "The closest you've come to a community pool is the heated one at our country club."

"Is it my fault I was born into privilege? So what happened?" She arched a brow. "Did somebody push you in?"

Oliver put his phone down. "Speaking of privilege.  Have you picked a college yet?"

Her foot stilled. The crop dipped toward the floor. "No. And now who's changing the topic?"

He ignored her, motioned for her to turn around and, when she did, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "You've got time."

He caught the chocolate colored sheet and took it with him as he stood, then crossed to the bathroom. When he re-emerged some time later, he was clean, refresh, relieved, shaved, and dressed.

Thea still sat in the chair, though now her legs dangled over one rolled chair arm and she was playing with the straps on her helmet. She didn't even look at him. "Tommy loves Sara," she declared. "He's just too scared to realize it."

Oliver tossed her a glance as he opened his closet doors. He turned his attention to the tie rack and poked through them. Gray. Gray. Gray. More gray. Navy. He sighed as he pulled two of them out – one a classic blue stripe, the other gray and black – and studied them. "What do you know about love, Speedy?"

"I know that, when you find it, you have to hold on to it or risk losing it. That's what Mom always says."

"When did you start listening to her?"

"I like when she tells stories about her and Dad when they were young."

"Jesus, they're not that that old."

"Whatever. My point is, you can see a difference in Tommy when he's with Sara. He's not the same person with her."

Oliver didn't say anything. There wasn't a point, and cruelty wasn't his normal bag, especially with his baby sister. Thea had always adored Tommy. There was no reason to take her blinders off when it came to their brother. She'd discover the disappointment that was Thomas Queen all on her own and in due course.

As for Tommy being different?  Oliver didn't see it. Tommy just proved over and over again that he was the same guy.  Felicity was simply the latest in a long line of distractions, excuses, and horrible choices. Frankly, Oliver wasn't sure which woman was getting the worse deal: the one about to have her heart tromped on, yet dodge a horrible marriage at the same time, or Felicity, who Tommy apparently wanted to sweep off her feet in a whirlwind romance that would end the same way all of Tommy's romances ended. Badly.

"I'm serious, you know," Thea continued. "I know Tommy has his issues, but he's not the same with Sara. Haven't you noticed?"

Oliver tossed the tie over his shoulder and threw the other back into the closet. He shut the door with a bit more force than necessary. "No. I haven't."

"He hasn't tried to talk to you about it? Cause I think he tried to talk to me, but I'm a girl. I steered him toward you."

"When was this?" Oliver asked as he moved to the mirror mounted over his dresser.

"I dunno. A month ago?"

He flipped his collar up and slid the tie around his throat. "Oh. Then no."

"Really?"

"Really-really."

"Weird. Personally I think he's afraid. I think Sara makes him want things and think about things he never did with anybody else."

Like skinny dipping in pools with naked, hot blondes. Oliver winced as he pulled the tie too tight. He loosened the knot.

"Did you know, right before he left for Europe, I caught him looking at baby toys in a store window?"

Oliver's attention shifted to his sister's reflection in the mirror. His hands stilled at his throat for a moment before he went back to fixing his tie. Was that what did it? Had Sara brought up babies and wanting to build a family after the wedding? She seemed the type to want kids. She'd probably be good at it, though where she'd find time in between lectures, writing articles for medical journals and her patients, Oliver didn't know.

He did, however, know Tommy. Talk of "trying" and diapers, two a.m. feedings and colic, would be enough to send Tommy screaming for the hills. Usually one of his women started asking "Where is this relationship going?" was enough to send Tommy packing. Maybe baby talk had finally snapped him to reality long enough to realize what those engagement rings really meant. That would explain his sudden trip to Europe he claimed was spur of the moment trip to visit friends in Switzerland. It would also explain his sudden attachment to Felicity Smoak.

Now the clean up was his mess, Oliver decided, feeling the weight of it on his shoulders. Letting Felicity believe he was the overwhelmed, resentful older brother had been a good first step toward softening her impression of him. If he could get her to stop seeing him as an enemy, he'd be able to get close enough to do what needed to be done. 

Kissing her had been a calculated risk. He'd needed to distract her and shift her focus away from Tommy and on to more willing prey. Bigger, easier, richer prey. Who better than the successful CEO of an international corporation in the midst of an apparent personal crisis in need of "rescue" by a beautiful woman?

Oddly, lying had come pretty easy. Maybe it was easier when there was a small kernel of truth to his words and his relationship with Tommy. He released a harsh sigh as he straightened his collar, checked the buttons at his wrists. Tommy. It was a good thing he was doped up and knocked out or Oliver would be sorely tempted to take him out back and kick his sutured ass.

"Oliver?"

He turned away from the mirror and went in search of his jacket. "Yeah?"

"You know it's Saturday, right?"

He paused, one arm in the coat. "Yeah. Why?"

Thea opened her mouth but didn't say anything. Her gaze drifted over him, making him wonder if he'd mismatched his socks with his suit. Nope. Matching. Smart. Totally put together, buttoned up, and controlled.

She finally shook her head. "Nothing." She swung her feet to the floor and stood. "Never mind. Are you going to the office?"

"No." He stepped up behind her, clamped both hands on her shoulders and steered her toward the door. "I'm driving you to your riding lesson. And then…"

She twisted around to look back at him. "Then?"

"I have to see somebody about a cleaning bill."

 

~*~

[Read About the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge Here](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/85950138689/getting-through-the-break-olicity-flash-fiction)


	10. Who Are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity orders lunch and winds up with more than just the bill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an Alternate Universe flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read. Oh and this one? Yeah, this one is definitely going to be a multi-part story.

When the knock on her apartment door came shortly after noon, Felicity opened it expecting Mandarin Palace’s Gold Combo Delight Number Four with sa cha beef, fried rice, and jin doi for eight bucks, not one buttoned-up billionaire in a bad tie holding a bill for six thousand dollars.

“What?” she asked as she studied the slip of pink paper, “no fortune cookie?”

Oliver stopped trying to see over her head into her apartment long enough to scowl at her. “Excuse me?”

“Never mind.” She held the receipt out to him. “I’m not paying that.”

He didn’t move to accept it, just continued to stand in ugly hall with its ugly beige walls and equally ugly brown carpet, his hands in the pockets of a camel colored jacket that looked like cashmere, and the tips of his Italian leather shoes on the very edge of her ‘There’s No Place Like 127.0.o.1’ welcome mat.

Oliver tipped his head as his attention shifted beyond her, swept from one side of her entry to the other. “You have to pay that,” he said as if it were simple fact, like needing to breathe air or drink water.

“No. I don’t. How did you get up here anyway?”

“The front door was open.”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “Ugh. _Parnowskiwitz_.”

Oliver eyed her. “I’m not sure if I should say ‘Bless you’ or ‘Watch your language.’”

“Mrs. Parnowskiwitz,” Felicity explained. “She lives on the sixth floor and props the street door open with a coffee can full of pennies so she doesn’t have to get up and buzz her grandkids in when they’re done playing hockey in the alley.”

“Why?”

“Because anything lighter and the door closes.”

He stared at her, his brow slightly furrowed.

“Oh! You mean…” Felicity cleared her throat as she absently tugged the bottom of her purple hoodie downward before toying with the arrow-shaped industrial piercing in her ear. “She’s, like, a hundred, and she has a bad hip, so getting up and down is hard for her.”

Gah! Why did the man have to show up looking all Bogart while she looked all sweaty Hazel from unpacking and shoving boxes around? Her hair was up in a grungy clip, for crying out loud. Why couldn’t she look all Hepburn, like the other night? Worst of all, he’d caught her off guard and unprepared. Never be unprepared – for battle or anything else – wasn’t that the spirit of his infamous first rule about operating from a position of power?

For Felicity, unprepared often lead to uncomfortable, and uncomfortable to babbling. Was she babbling? She felt like she was babbling, and he’d done this to her on purpose, the rat. Shown up on her home ground specifically to rattle her and gain the upper hand.

“Why not give the grandkids a key?” Oliver asked.

“She says they could lose it, then hooligans would find it, come back, get into the building, and rob her.”

“Yes, but if she leaves a can of pennies to hold the door open, they won’t need a key to get in and rob her.”

“Welcome to the logic loop. You now officially sound like every resident at our monthly renter’s meeting.” She tacked the pink slip of paper to his chest with her index and middle fingers. “I’m still not paying this.”

“You ruined my tux.”

“ _You_ ruined your tux. You have all the balance of those drunken monkeys on Youtube.”

“Well, if I’d known you were going to overreact and -- I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes, shook his head. “Drunken _what_?”

“Monkeys. See, there was a director making one of those animal documentaries in Africa back in the seventies. He faked all this footage of drunk animals, claiming they got wasted on fermented fruit. Can you believe that? Fruit.” She snorted while at the same time internally yelling at herself to shut up. Who cared about monkeys? Nobody cared! “An animal would have to eat twenty-five percent of its own body weight to get that drunk. The whole thing is pretty incredible when you think about it, but then you were drinking that night, so you see it really is your own fault for bringing the champagne, unlike the monkeys.”

Oliver opened his mouth. Stopped. Stared. Finally, he shook his head. “Regardless, you pushed me over like She-Thor —"

“Thor.”

He sighed. “What?”

“Thor. Thor is just Thor. Not She-Thor. Just Thor.”

He exhaled through gritted teeth. “You pushed me.”

“You lost your balance.”

“You _pushed_ me.”

“You kissed me!”

“You kissed me first.”

She recoiled with an audible gasp. The receipt for his tux fluttered to the floor between them. “I did not!”

He leveled a bland look at her. “Then I believe we’re at an impasse, but let me assure you, my attorney’s told me—”

“Attorneys? You brought lawyers into this?”

“‘This,’” he said, even air-quoting the word and elevating the status of the situation to an actual _situation_ , “whole episode can be solved with a simple check for the cost of the tux. I depreciated its value since it was six months old.” He smiled and leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. “Should I wait here while you get your checkbook?”

“I’m not paying you,” Felicity said. She turned smart on her heel and stalked, barefoot, away from him and into her living room.

Oliver followed. He stepped inside, shut – and locked – the door, then stripped off his coat and folded it neatly over the small armchair in the foyer before trailing after her. He didn’t even try to hide his obvious appraisal of her apartment, but Felicity didn’t care what he saw or thought he saw. She liked the one bedroom walkup with its exposed brick walls, original wood floors and built-ins, and turn of the century radiators. The natural light kept it bright and sunny, even on cold winter days like this, and in the summer she could sun-brew iced tea in glass jugs on the fire escape.

Granted, the décor left a bit to be desired, but her subletter had changed things while she was away. Now she was back and still adjusting. She nudged a large cardboard box to the side and bent to close the flaps. She hadn’t brought much back with her from Paris, mostly clothes and shoes. Way too many shoes. What was the point of shipping everything back if she decided to return to Paris?

Felicity tried to shove the box under coffee table but gave up when it didn’t fit. She glanced behind her. “How’s Tommy?”

Oliver, his suit immaculate, his tie in that permanent neat knot, stood behind her, a strange look on his face.

She frowned at him, snapped her fingers. “Hello? Earth to Queen?”

He blinked and… blushed? Did Oliver Queen, CEO of one the largest, most successful companies in the world, just blush? Oh, no. Felicity automatically put a hand on her bottom. Did she sit in something? Were these the yoga pants with the rip? Oh, God, what underwear was she wearing? Was she wearing the ones with the green cartoon frogs jumping to lily pads with _Oui!_ on them?

She encountered nothing but fabric and, a little higher, on the foldover waistline, the slightly rougher texture of sequins. Stitched there, she recalled, in the shape of angel wings right above the globes of her ass.

Her face heated. Clearing her throat, she straightened, tugged the hem of her hoodie down again as she faced him. “How’s Tommy?”

“Unconscious.”

“Was he that badly hurt?”

He shook his head. “Low pain tolerance. The doctors thought it best if he was a little more sedated for the first few days.”

“Oh.”

Oliver indicated the boxes. “You’re still unpacking.”

“Haven’t really started. I’ve mostly been living out of a suitcase.”

They both glanced toward her bedroom where another stack of boxes was clearly visible. Beyond that the full sized bed with its inviting green and white comforter. A bed covered completely in heeled shoes.

Felicity dragged her eyes away from it. She cleared her throat. “I’ve been busy,” she said, feeling the weird need to explain herself. She locked her arms across her middle. “And I don’t have a butler. What are you really doing here, Oliver? And don’t give me some song and dance about your cleaning bill. We both know you probably have three of those tuxedos in your closet.”

“Six, actually. I have a busy calendar. I like to be prepared.”

“Of course you do.” She flexed her bare toes against the cool floor. “Is this about another bribe to get me out of Tommy’s life? Because if it is…” She swept her hand toward the door.

Oliver grimaced. “I think you misunderstood what was said last night.”

“I don’t misunderstand things.”

“You misunderstood that.”

“You offered me money if I’d stop being Tommy’s friend.”

“No. You hypothesized an offer. I just went along with the scenario you started.”

Her eyes narrowed. Oh, he was one smooth son of a bitch, all right. Every bit the manipulator his reputation warned.

“I, uh...” Oliver shifted, suddenly looking uncomfortable and out of place. “I’m here because I need a favor.”

“A favor? Are you kidding me? After last night? After you wave a six thousand dollar bill in my face and talk about lawyers?”

He shifted his jaw and looked away. His hands curled into fists. “I prefer to negotiate from a position of authority.”

“You mean power and force and scare tactics.”

His jaw locked.

“Oh. I see. So this,” Felicity gestured between them, “whatever you want...  This isn’t a favor. You’re blackmailing me. Help you out or what? You’ll have your attorney’s sue me for dry cleaning? Seriously?”

“I’m not going to sue you. I just like to… remind you,” he drawled, “of ethical balances so you’ll be more inclined to assist me.”

“Blackmail. Favors? Those are for friends. We’re not friends.” She scooped a half-filled coffee cup from the table and went into her kitchen. She tossed the cold liquid into the sink, then set the cup on the counter with a rap. “Friends don’t threaten each other.”

He stood on the other side of the breakfast counter, his hands on the edge. “It’s been my experience that people won’t help me without wanting something in return. Even so-called friends.”

“Then get a better class of friends.”

“I don’t have many.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

“Any.”

“What?”

“I said many. That wasn’t true. I meant any.”

He didn’t have any friends? Who didn’t have friends?

The shock of it must have shown on her face because Oliver’s expression tightened. “I’ve spent my life building something. That doesn’t leave a lot of time for anything but business meetings and board functions. The people I know are either family, co-workers, or associates. Not friends.”

And like that they were both back on those stupid summer vacations. Stupid, shy, awkward kids unsure how to fit in with anybody else. Smart enough to realize they were different, but not smart enough to figure out how to overcome it.

Felicity had been lucky. She’d been forced out of her comfort zone and sent halfway around the world where she’d flourished. She’d not only found work she really enjoyed, that she was good at, and that people admired, but she’d found a place she belonged with people who truly cared about her. Oliver, on the other hand, was still that little boy at sea, all alone in his stateroom while everybody else played together on deck.

She sighed. “I’m going to regret asking this but,” she narrowed her gaze on him, “what’s this favor entail, exactly?”

“I have a sister. Thea. Her birthday is in a couple of weeks, and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Felicity closed her eyes, shook her head. “Wait. Are you telling me you want me to—”

“Help me pick out a birthday gift.”

“For a girl I’ve never met? Who’s _your_ sister?”

“It’s her eighteenth birthday. It’s special. She’s…” Oliver wiggled. The man actually freaking fidgeted. “She’s my baby sister and this birthday is important to her. I want to get her something nice. Something fun. She’s a girl.”

Felicity nodded slowly. “Sisters usually are.”

“So I need to get her something… nice.”

“Oliver? You’re a billionaire. I’m sure you can get her anything she wants.”

He let out a gruff sigh. “That’s the problem. I can buy her anything. My parents are getting her a car. She’s got a horse. She’d got enough clothes to fill this apartment with just her summer stuff. There’s nothing she can’t buy herself if she wants it bad enough. But I want to get her something…”

“Personal,” Felicity finished for him, feeling a bit awed. Big, mean, tough Oliver Queen didn’t want to get his sister something nice. He wanted to get her something sentimental. Something from the heart that showed how much he loved her, how proud he was of the woman she was becoming. He was just so out of touch with it, maybe out of touch with his sister, that he was afraid to pick something.

He cared about this sister. A lot. It was written all over his face and in the glimmer of fear in his eyes. He was afraid she wouldn’t like what he picked; would either reject it or laugh at it without realizing she was rejecting and laughing at him, too. At a party. In front of everybody. Boy, Felicity hoped the party wasn’t on a yacht. If it was, this guy was never setting foot on a boat again.

“Yes,” Oliver said. “Personal. Exactly.”

Felicity let out a breath as she shook her head. “Oliver, she’s your sister. I don’t know why you think I’d be able to come up with anything—”

“Tommy’s the fun brother,” he blurted out.

“Come again?”

“Every year, when we gave Thea gifts, mine were always… practical. Tommy’s were the ones she’d play with.”

“Oh.”

“This year, I thought it would be easier. I thought Tommy and I would go in on a gift together.”

A.K.A. Tommy would pick the perfect gift and Oliver could breathe a sigh of relief when Thea loved it and thanked them both.

“But now Tommy’s hurt. The doctor’s said it’ll be some time before he can be up and around and the party is in a few weeks and—”

“You’re panicking.”

He grimaced. “Does it show?”

“Little bit.”

“So then I remembered that you’ve been living in Paris and that you seem to have similar interests.”

Felicity tipped her head. “Thea’s into virtual machine emulators, war dialers, and forensic utilities?”

“No. Fashion. Clothes. Shoes and stuff.”

“Stuff.”

“Yeah. Stuff. Frilly girl stuff. You were frilly last night.  Not all,” he gestured to her, “normal and this.”

Felicity braced her elbows on the counter and clasped her hands together in front of her face to hide her laughter.

“That didn’t come out right,” he told her. “It’s just that I don’t want to have some personal shopper pick something out or have my assistant or my secretary do it. They’ll pick something impersonal and cold like pearls or a camera or something. Thea… She’s my sister. I don’t want to do that to her. Not for this. Eighteen is important to her. She’ll be leaving for college soon and I…” He stopped, looked away as he swallowed. “She’ll be growing up. Making her own life. I want to do this right. For once. For her.”

Felicity released a long sigh. Crap. The guy was a shark in the boardroom but he was a freaking marshmallow when it came to this sister. How could anyone say no to that?

She straightened, flattening her hands against the countertop as she stood. “All right. I’ll agree to this insanity on one condition.”

Oliver nodded. “Of course. Right. Absolutely. I’ll rip up the bill and we can negotiate an hourly rate for your time.

That hurt, Felicity realized. Not because it insulted her, but because it told her way too much about Oliver Queen and his relationship with the people he let in his life.

“No,” she said as she exited the kitchen and rounded the breakfast bar to stand in front of him. “I want you to say one simple thing to me.”

He met her eye. Didn’t blink, didn’t look away. “Felicity.”

“Yes, Oliver?”

“Would you, please, help me pick out a birthday present for my sister?”

“Of course, Oliver.” She patted his arm. “What are friends for?”

 

~*~

[Find Out More About Olicity Flash Fiction Challenge Here](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/85950138689/getting-through-the-break-olicity-flash-fiction)


	11. Whatever It Takes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The changes in Oliver's behavior don't go unnoticed. His plans, however, hit an unexpected snag named Felicity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an Alternate Universe flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read. Oh and this one? Yeah, this one is definitely going to be a multi-part story.

When Oliver Queen interviewed applicants for the position of his executive assistant, he made the selection the same way he made all his decisions – calmly, dispassionately, without pressure. He assessed candidates based solely on analysis of their benefit/hindrance ratio, calculating such ratio by factors such as skill set, experience, reputation, and achievements. He met with six potential assistants before Hildy Burns – all five feet one and a half inches, one hundred ten pounds of her – clipped through his door.

The petite, dark haired woman had entered his office in a trim, navy blue suit, perched herself on the edge of a chair, whipped out a notebook, and proceeded to ask him one question for every one that he asked her. After all, she'd told him, the interview was a two way street. He wanted to know why he should hire her; she wanted to know why she should want him to. She was articulate, smart, concise, and efficient. She didn't say in twenty words what could be said in five, and she wasn't afraid of anyone – an important quality considering she was, in essence, the guard dog at his door.

That fearlessness was something she'd once proven after she physically barred a six foot employee from storming Oliver's office until security could arrive. Oliver hadn't even been in at the time. It was a display of dedication that – no matter how misguided on her part – earned her a twenty-five percent raise, a direct line to the newly installed security guard on the floor, a company car, season tickets to the Starling Rockets, and an extra two weeks of vacation.

Now, after five years together, Oliver and Hildy had a comfortable routine. She arrived promptly at eight-forty five a.m., assembled his messages, mail, and five newspapers – one local, one national, one British, one French, and one international – along with a summary of the overnight performance of foreign stock markets, his updated schedule and all relevant documents on his iPad, a recharged cell phone, and his itinerary for the day, and brought them into his office at precisely nine-ten to review his appointments for the day.

That was why Oliver really couldn't blame her when, at eight-forty-six, she slowly poked her head through his open office door – eyes wide with a mix of concern, fear, and suspicion – and called out a tentative, "Hello?"

Oliver didn't even look up from his desk. He scrawled his name across the bottom of a letter, flipped to the next one, did the same, another, then another. "Good. You're here. Come in and shut the door."

She did, and then stood there, her back against the wood, her hands still on the knob behind her. "Are you all right?"

"What?" He darted a quick frown at her. "Of course I am."

"Are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because it's not even nine o'clock yet. You're never here this early. I don't even have your coffee ready."

He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Forget the coffee. In fact, forget everything. I'm not going to be here long. I need you to cancel my appointments today."

"Excuse me?"

"All of them. I won't have time. They'll have to be rescheduled."

"But —"

"You're right. Don't reschedule. I don't know when I'll be available again."

"But —"

"Of course. You're right again." He signed another page, moved on to the next one. "Better cancel everything set for tomorrow, too. Call Quentin Lance first. I was supposed to tour his factory this afternoon. Get a firsthand look at their process in anticipation of the merger. That will definitely have to wait now."

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "You're dying."

Oliver paused and looked up. Hildy still clung to the doorknob but now it looked like it was the only thing holding her up. Her skin looked like snow against the brick red color of her suit. He scowled. "What?"

She leaned forward. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You're dying? Are you dying? Oh, my God." She pressed a hand to her chest. "Does your mother know?"

He set his pen down. "I'm not dying."

"Oh. No." Hildy shook her head quickly, nearly undoing the neat twist of hair on top of her head. "Of course you're not. Positive thinking. That's very important. After all, there are all sorts of medical miracles these days. I'm sure you'll have the best care. The absolute best. My mother's sister's husband had cancer once and —"

"Hildy?"

Her mouth snapped shut.

"I'm _not_ dying."

"Stock prices. I get it." She pressed her finger to her lips. "Not a word. I promise. I'm the soul of discretion. I never once told anybody about my former boss' mistress' love child. Ever." She hesitated. "Oh. Crap."

Oliver sighed and stood. He gathered the papers into a neat stack. "I'm not sick. I'm simply taking a day off."

She laughed.

He glared.

She stopped. "Oh. You're… You're serious?"

"Yes. What's so hard to believe about that?"

"Well. It's just that, I mean, you've never done it before."

"Yes, I have."

She shook her head.

"Last summer," he insisted. "I went to Italy. I even brought you back a basket of olive oils from the tour I took."

"That was a hostile takeover."

"Oh. Okay, fine. A few months before that. London. I brought you back tea from Whittard."

"Yes, sir. That was another takeover trip where you 'accidentally,'" she said, making air quotes with her fingers, "bumped into several of the company's key stockholders on a golf outing and negotiated the purchase of a controlling interest in a corporation."

Oliver planted his hands flat on his desk and leaned forward. "Fine. A year ago. China."

She grimaced.

He sighed. "Damn it. That was that cell phone technology firm we took over, wasn't it."

Hildy nodded. "But you did bring me back a pretty vase."

He snapped, pointed. "Three years ago. I took a whole week off. Never came to work. Didn't even call. Just stayed home and relaxed."

"Your appendix ruptured, and you still finished that meeting before you let me take you to the hospital. Doctor mandated recovery time doesn't count as vacation."

Oliver stared at his desk, feeling like he was seeing it for the first time. It was, in many ways, a reflection of his life. A bin for paper coming in, another for paper going out, one more for events on hold. Since he didn't believe in frills, liked only those things that streamlined his day and didn't offer distraction, his tools were simple: a computer, appointment calendar, and clock. Everything he could possible need was either literally at his fingertips or could be retrieved with a push of a button. No fuss, no muss, no extraneous distracting anything. There wasn't anything wrong with that.

So what if he didn't take vacations? He enjoyed work. It wasn't like it was his entire life. He knew how to enjoy himself. And so what if he hadn't exactly been lying a few days ago when he told Felicity he didn't have friends. The best lies were often laced with a thread of truth. He knew people. Plenty of them. His lunch schedule was packed with them. Did it matter whether they talked shop while exchanging investment ideas or holiday trips with accompanying photos? He didn't think so. Why feel bad about it? He didn't feel bad. That was ridiculous.

Just because other people didn't understand his life, just because they didn't mind sitting around, wasting time, waiting for things to happen to them instead of being a driving force that made things happen, didn't mean they were somehow magically happier than he was. He was happy. Okay, maybe happy was the wrong word. Happiness was an overrated concept used to sell self-help books and meditation tracks off iTunes and Amazon. Content was a better word choice.

What was wrong with content? Nothing. Content was fine. Fine was fine. Not great, not exciting, but life wasn't about excitement. At least, not for people who weren't like Tommy – flitting from thing to thing, never serious, never responsible, never mature. For them, life was a never-ending party with somebody else picking up the tab.   Tommy got to be the flitter. Oliver got to be the tab-picker-upper. That's how things shook out. Didn't mean Oliver wasn't okay with it. He'd rather be the responsible one cleaning up the mess than the irresponsible one making it.

"Well," Hildy said, stepping forward to take the stack of papers he'd signed, tap them against the desktop to tidy them before she hugged them to her chest, "whatever brought on this change of heart, I'm happy for you. You deserve some time off. And don't worry about things around here. I can manage. You've done so well with this place, it practically runs itself."

"I won't be gone forever, and I'll check in before the end of the day to see if you need anything. And if there's any problems —"

"There won't be."

"But just in case."

"We'll manage."

He nodded and watched her walk to the door. She was reaching for the knob when he said, "Oh. Hildy. Wait."

She turned back, her brow raised.

"That list I asked you to compile.  The one with suggestions for Thea's birthday."

"I started it last week. Why? Did you think of something?"

"No. I, uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I changed my mind. I don't need it. File it, just in case, but I'm, uh, going to pick her out something myself this year."

She blinked.

Oliver shifted. "It's her eighteenth birthday." When Hildy didn't respond, he shrugged. "I wanted to get her something nice. You know. Personal. From me. To let her know. You know. She'll always be my sister."

She blinked again, rapidly, and was it his imagination or were her eyes way too shiny and… wet?

Hildy pressed her free hand against her bosom. "Oh. That's so sweet. I can't believe… You're being so brave about this. I can't…" She shook her head, held that hand up. "No. No, it's okay. I promised. I understand. My grandfather was this way. For some people it's just easier to keep that strong front and get through it."

"Hildy."

"Just… be brave, Mr. Queen. You're young. You're in your prime. Whatever it is? I know you can beat it."

"Oh, for Christ's…" He threw up his hands. "I'm not sick!"

She nodded even as she opened the door and ducked out, wiping her eyes as she went. A moment later, she reappeared. She hooked her thumb over her shoulder at the waiting area. "There's someone here to see you."

Oliver frowned. "I'm not expecting anyone."

Hildy darted a quick look into the other room. "I don't know that anybody would expect her."

Her? Oliver crossed to the door and, together, he and Hildy peeked out. And there was Felicity Smoak, leaning against the corner of Hildy's desk as she rolled the crystal orb from the Atlas bronze statue back and forth between her palms.

She'd shunned the suit and tie normally seen at Queen Consolidated for a pretty cardigan that washed turquoise around her shoulders, and then faded into blues and greens as it neared her hips, where it ended and well-worn blue jeans began. She'd even left her hair down and curly, like ribbons of honey.  The mane shifted around her shoulders as she sang under her breath, bobbing her head back and forth and keeping time with the steady tick of her boot heel against the metal leg of the desk.

Against the staid, rather severe marble, glass, and dark wood tones of the Queen Consolidated offices, Felicity rather reminded Oliver of a peacock who'd somehow wandered into an asphalt jungle. Totally out of place. Completely wrong. Oddly exotic.

Oliver nudged the door shut. He looked down at Hildy, still trapped between him and the doorway. "It's all right," he told her. "I know her."

"Oh."

"Have the car brought around. I'll be driving myself today."

"Really?"

Oliver nodded as he went back to his desk. "And do me a favor. Make lunch reservations for two. Someplace quiet. Out of the way. But interesting. Something with a little history to it. Oh, and dinner, too. That place by the river. The one with the walkway that runs by it. The lighted one."

"Giselle's?"

"That's the one."

"They're booked solid weeks in —"

Oliver pinned her with a silent look.

"I will get you a table."

"A good one. Something by the window. The more intimate the better. And make sure there are fresh flowers on the table."

"Oh." Hildy paused. She darted a quick glance toward the door. Her eyes widened. A smile curved her mouth. "Oh! Oh, oh gosh, this is so wonderful! I'm so happy for you!"

Oliver frowned. "What are you…" before he could finish the tiny woman was across the room, hugging him. Arms up, not touching her, Oliver didn't know what to do, so he didn't do anything.

Hildy squeezed harder. "I'm so relieved. Thank goodness. You're _not_ dying!"

"I think we covered that."

"No, I mean, this really _isn’t_ about dying. It's about living. And it's wonderful!" As if suddenly realizing what she was doing, Hildy released him and stepped back. "Does your mother know?" She waved the question away before he could respond. "Doesn't matter. Who cares? She'll know when you want her to know. Oh, I'm so happy for you. I totally understand now. Don't you worry about a thing, Mr. Queen. I will hold down the fort and cover for you with anyone who asks. Didn't see you. Don't know where you are. Don't know when you'll be back." She caught his arm and steered him toward the door. "You kids just go and have fun and don't give the office another thought."

The next thing Oliver knew he was through the door, stumbling into the waiting room. The door behind him closed with a bang.

Felicity looked up. She stopped singing. The ball between her hands rolled to a stop in the cup formed by her laced-together fingers. Her foot stopped swinging.

Then she smiled.

Something odd went soft and warm in his chest. At the same time, something heavy settled in his stomach.

She shifted the ball to one hand, waggled her fingers from beneath the cuff of the long sweater sleeve. "Hi."

"Um. Hi." Oliver didn't move. Felt weird smiling back. He fidgeted. "Uh. What are you… doing here?"

She set the ball back in Atlas' hands, then clasped hers between her spread knees, went back to lightly ticking her boot heel against the desk. "Well, when I called your house —"

"You called my house?"

"Yep. I talked to your housekeeper." She paused, wrinkled her nose. "That sounds weird. Maid? No. That's worse. Your head of household staff. There. That. I like that."

"Raisa?" She'd talked to Raisa? Ah, hell. He'd never hear the end of this now. The woman would have a billion questions, most of them revolving around _Is she pretty? When can I meet her? When are you bringing her to dinner? Does she eat fish? Please tell me she's not vegan like the last one._

Felicity nodded again, a springy move that made her curls bounce. "She seemed very sweet on the phone. She invited me over for blini. She also told me you'd already come into the office this morning and since it didn't make sense for you to drive all the way here to drive all the way to get me to drive all the way back home just to drive all the way back into town…" She swung her hands up in a flourish tada! move. "I figured I'd meet you here and surprise you." She slid off the desk and to her feet. "Surprise!"

Oliver forced a wider smile. "That's great. Yeah. Um." He rubbed his ear as he eyed her. "Why would we have to go to my house before going into town to shop?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I can't shop for someone I don't know. Now, then." She stepped up to him and straightened his bowtie before resting her hands against his suit front. She smiled again, her face radiant, her blue eyes positively glowing. "When do I get to meet your sister?"

 ~*~

[Read More About the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/85950138689/getting-through-the-break-olicity-flash-fiction)

 


	12. As Silent As The Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver's best laid plans hit a snag (or three).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an Alternate Universe flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read. Oh and this one? Yeah, this one is definitely going to be a multi-part story.

Like most saints and miracle workers, the Queens' went by one simple name: Raisa.

The pleasantly plump, dark haired Russian not only cooked divine creations in the kitchen, she also somehow kept the Queen estate running and the entire family together whenever it threatened to bust apart at the seams. She'd saved Robert Queen's ass during several impromptu cocktail parties and always managed to whip up something impressive whenever Winifred Arrington (of the Newport Arringtons, of course, darling) decided to drop by to rub her "dear friend" Moira's nose in some social snub or other.

Raisa also managed to wrangle the disasters that often plagued Thea's teenage existence, kept Tommy as organized as any human could, worried whether Oliver remembered to eat or not as he entered or exited the house, and had, single-handedly, settled the brother-on-brother fight thereafter always referred to as the Great G.I. Joe Hall of Fame Footlocker Christmas Battle of 1994.

So when Oliver entered the kitchen shortly after ten o'clock that morning to find Raisa seated at the kitchen island with a bottle of whiskey and a glass -- her normally neat bun askew, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers, and another three snuffed out in the ashtray at her elbow -- he knew there was trouble.

He set his briefcase on the granite countertop. "I thought you quit?"

"Emergency stash," she told him before blowing a stream of dingy smoke out from between pursed lips.

"You threw together a menu for sixteen people on less than three hours notice. Stress is your thing."

She sent him a withering look, then focused on grinding that cigarette out. "Mr. and Mrs. Queen have been arguing all morning. He wanted breakfast, I brought him breakfast, they argued. Breakfast got cold, he didn't want to eat it. She wants breakfast. I bring her breakfast. He argues with her."

"Breakfast got cold," Oliver guessed, taking in the piles of still dirty breakfast pots and pans, and dinnerware piled in the sink and on the counter behind her.

She flicked a hand at him, bobbed her head. "He asks for coffee, she yells at him for drinking too much caffeine. I bring them tea, he throws caffeine statistics on tea versus coffee at her. They fight."

"Tea gets cold."

"Exactly." She removed the stopper from the whiskey bottle. "And in between these spouts —"

"Bouts."

She flicked him an annoyed look as she splashed more alcohol into the glass. "Whatever. Somehow I'm supposed to plan Ms. Thea's birthday party, finalize wedding details for Mr. Tommy and Ms. Sara while coordinating with their caterer, florist, musicians, baker, wedding planner, and media. I have seating charts to review with a man who insists we can fit twelve chairs per row per section when I know it should only be ten, a florist who keeps insisting flower garlands on the table when Mr. Tommy and Ms. Sara specifically requested traditional centerpieces, and who I have to keep reminding that the bridesmaids dresses are pink blush, not green. Then the doctor tells me he's cutting off Mr. Tommy's pain medication, like I need him ringing down for something every ten minutes. And that doesn't even touch that reporter from the Starling City Tattler who keeps calling for a quote responding to the rumor there might not even _be_ a wedding, or Ms. Thea telling me —"

"Wait. Hold it." Oliver held up a hand. "The doctor did what?"

"Took Mr. Tommy off his pain medication." Raisa snorted into her glass before taking a very long sip.   "You didn't think they'd keep him doped up forever, did you? This morning's pills were the last. And let me tell you, Mr. Oliver, Mr. Tommy? He is not the most gracious patient. He doesn't want soup. He doesn't want scrambled eggs. He wants ginger ale and Jell-O. Blue Jell-O! Do I look like I make blue food? No food should be that shade. Thankfully, Ms. Sara brought it," she said with a distinct shiver as she patted her bun. "Store bought. Pre-made in horrible plastic cups."

Oliver braced his hands on the edge of the counter and hung his head. He closed his eyes. "Sara's here?"

Raisa nodded. "She's up with Tommy now."

"Terrific."

Not at all terrific. The opposite of terrific. The two women he was trying his best to keep away from Tommy – Felicity and Sara – were both now under the same roof with him. At the same time. And Tommy wasn't buzzed out on some pharmaceutical or other. That meant he could open his mouth and tell Sara all about Felicity and his desire to call off the wedding and hook up with Felicity. He could call for Felicity, declare his undying love, and desire to be with her. Even if Tommy wasn't sober enough to do that yet, the two women might run into each other, accidentally let something slip and then… _KaBlam_! Sara makes one call to her father, the deal folds, and Queen Consolidated sinks.

He needed to get Sara away from Tommy, Tommy away from Felicity, and Felicity away from Sara. He could do that. He ran a multi-billion dollar, global empire. He could manipulate three people. How hard could it be?

Oliver headed for the hall. "Thank you, Raisa." He stopped abruptly and turned back. He frowned. "Did you say something about Thea? What's wrong with Thea?"

Raisa started to speak, stopped herself, then shook her head. "Nothing. She's just Ms. Thea. I'm getting too old to keep up with her. She's like the wind. She blows from a new direction every day." She reached for the pack of cigarettes. "Maybe I should retire. Find a nice, small cottage in the Bahamas or Greece. Oh, maybe Portugal. I have cousins there."

Oliver came back to her and plucked the smokes from her hand. He put a hand on her shoulder. "You're not going to retire. We couldn't function here without you."

"One day you will have to, and days like this? They make me think it might be time. I cannot handle one more thing, Mr. Oliver. Not one." She hesitated. Her eyes narrowed a second before they cut up toward his face. "Why are you home? You should be at the office. You're always at the office."

"Oh. Uh." He scratched the corner of his eye as he glanced behind him at the doorway behind him. The hall led back to the living room where he'd left Felicity. Somehow he didn't think Raisa was ready for that, nor did Raisa need to concern herself with the other woman. Oliver could handle Felicity just fine. He shook his head. "It's nothing. I'm just taking a day off."

Raisa froze. Her eyes went wide and round as she clutched the front of her uniform. "Bozhe moi. You are ill? You are ill! Do your parents know?"

"I'm not —" Oliver cut himself off. He raked his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Why does everybody think I’m dying?"

"I said ill, not dying. Who said dying? Oh. Oh!" She pushed her chair back and scrambled to stand. "Oh, Mr. Oliver, are you dying?!"

Sighing he put both hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down onto the chair. "I'm fine, Raisa. Really. I just have other things to take care of today, that's all."

She gave him the stink eye as she sank back into her seat. "Other things than work? I don't believe you."

Thankfully the buzz of the intercom kept Oliver from having to explain or come up with some sort of plausible lie to fend the woman off. He liked her too much to ask her to sit on a whiskey glass.

The intercom crackled a second before Tommy's voice floated from the speaker. "Raisa? I'm thirsty," he called out. "Can I have some ginger ale? With ice? In a short glass. Please? Thank you."

When Raisa started to stand, Oliver motioned for her to remain seated. He yanked open the door of the stainless steel fridge and rooted around until he found a chubby little bottle. As he slammed the door shut, he said, "I'll take it up to him, but Emperor Kuzco'll have to live like an animal and drink from the bottle this time."

Raisa smiled at him as he came back to hug her. As he drew back, she reached up and cupped his face. "Sooner or later, Mr. Oliver, there will be something you can't take care of for other people."

"Doesn't exist. I haven't met a thing yet I can't handle."

"You say that like it's a good thing." Sadness tinged her smile and she patted his cheek. "There's still time. One day you will, and I will bless that day."

Oliver scowled. "I don't understand—"

"Uh, Ollie?" Thea interrupted as she poked her head through the doorway and into the kitchen. She pointed over her shoulder at the living room behind her. "You might want to come rescue your friend from Mom."

Oliver snapped around. "What?"

Raisa's eyebrows climbed. "Friend?"

"Lady friend," Thea drawled with a smirk.

"She's not—" Oliver stopped himself, took a deep breath. "She's a Queen Consolidated employee.   She's helping me with… a project."

"Uh-huh." Thea looked to Raisa. "She called herself his friend." She glanced back at Oliver. "Well, your employee-slash-friend-slash-project-helper is about to get her butt handed to it. You might wanna…" She flapped her hand at the hall. "Do. Something."

Oliver went, aware that Thea and Raisa trailed after him down the hall, around the corner, down another hall, before reaching the living room. It wasn't the formal living room where they left business guests to wait, but the family's living room where they could relax and, if they were Oliver, spend many sleepless nights watching the overseas' stock market reports.

Oliver rounded another corner, cleared the threshold – managed to sidestep the six foot potted tree just inside the archway – and stopped short. Thea bumped him. Raisa managed to avoid it somehow.

Silence descended.

There, in front of the ornate, stone fireplace (with its carved 15th century mantle rescued from some manor home in England before being transported to the U.S.) stood Felicity Smoak and Moira Queen. Between them – laying on the ground at Felicity's feet – sat Bert the Moose-head, the rarest, most prized trophy his father ever hunted.

~*~

[Read More About the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/85950138689/getting-through-the-break-olicity-flash-fiction)


	13. Oops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity's curiosity gets the better of her. Someone begins to doubt Oliver can handle as much as he claims.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an Alternate Universe flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read. Oh and this one? Yeah, this one is definitely going to be a multi-part story.

The moose was watching her.

Felicity tried to ignore it. She moved from one side of the Queen family living room to the other. She sat in one chair, then another, to the last, before switching to the loveseat and, finally, the sofa. There was no escaping it. The glassy black eyes of the stuffed and mounted white moose head followed her everywhere.

Seated in the middle of the cream colored sofa, her hands clasped primly together on her knee, Felicity tried to look anywhere but at the dead head. She tried to linger on the stone columns that stretched up from the tile floors toward the second floor balcony before rising up to the ceiling. She tried to admire the six foot potted palm trees that softened the corners of the room and ponder how one kept such trees alive indoors. She tried to decide if the beautiful fireplace – with its obvious antique carved mantel – was Italian, French, or English. She even tried counting the alternative beige-colored stone tiles of the floor. Anything not to look at that damned moose.

But the _moose_ kept looking at _her_.

She gave a little sigh as she tipped her head to one side and stared back. In a room of opulence – of imported stone and marble, of obviously expensive paintings and sculptures, and beautiful chandeliers and wall sconces accented by exquisite crystals – the animal head stuck out like a sore thumb.

"I know the feeling," Felicity told the moose as she absently adjusted her long cardigan and crossed her legs.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with jeans and a sweater. Ninety-nine percent of the population wore them. But she wasn't with ninety-nine percent. She was with the one percent. The one percent with palm trees in their houses, winding staircases, and a Gustav Klimt in the foyer she was positive was real.

The Queens were Cartier, Hermes, and Maserati. Felicity was Target, the Coach outlet store, and a Toyota Yaris. They were restaurants with no prices on the menu. She was restaurants with two-for-one discounts. And Oliver Queen, billionaire, and CEO of Queen consolidated not only wanted her help shopping, but seemed to want her friendship?

She eyed the moose. Her mouth pinched to one side. Why was it white? Weren't moose brown? All the ones she'd ever seen on PBS were brown. She frowned. The whole room was a monochromatic sea of beiges and creams. Did they have the head dyed to match the décor?

Felicity laugh-snorted. No. That was ridiculous. Nobody would do that. Plus… She wrinkled her nose. Given the upscale design of the living room, the moose head just didn't fit. Cottage, sure. Hunting cabin? Absolutely. A prized display over a classically shaped fireplace in the center of an elegant salon? Not so much.

She leaned forward. Squinted. She had heard of people dying their poodles in bizarre competitions to look like everything from camels to pandas and peacocks to roosters. The idle rich, she'd once heard someone at QC claim, were hard to entertain.

Felicity stood. She looked around before taking a step toward the moose head. Then another. One more.

She tipped her head back to peer up at it. It certainly looked real. There was dust in its nostrils and its mouth was… Felicity made a face and tipped her head from one side to the other. Too happy. The taxidermist had done whatever taxidermists did to the mouth and the effect was lips that curved slightly upward as if amused.

Felicity reached up to touch it. She came nowhere close.

She checked the room again, listened for footsteps before glancing down at the ledge of the raised fireplace. She nibbled her lip for a second before lifting her gaze to the moose. That animal seemed to smile down at her. _No biggie_ , those glassy black eyes seemed to say from beneath its widespread, cream-colored antlers. _Come on_. _Do it_. _Touch me_. _You know you wanna_.

Heart beating a little faster, palms a little moist, Felicity put the toe of one booted foot on the ledge, caught the fireplace mantel with one hand, and stretched. Her fingers bumped the moose's blunt-nosed snout.

The hair was dry and stiff against her fingertips and, when she ran her thumb against the grain of the hair, all she saw was white hair with white follicles. No dark roots there.

Fascinated, sad, and a little creeped out, Felicity stroked her palm down the animal's muzzle, gave it a light pat. "Sorry about this, guy. I don't suppose it'd make you feel better to know I've never eaten elk."

"His name's Bert."

Felicity squeaked as she jolted and twisted at the unexpected sound of a voice behind her. Her fingers lost their grip on the mantel. The squeak turned into a gasp as she teetered backward.

Acting on pure self-preservation, Felicity tightened her grip on the one thing she could: Bert. And dear, sweet, strong Bert – or, more precisely, Bert's wide nostril's – provided the perfect handhold that saved Felicity from falling and, quite possibly, breaking her neck along with her self-respect.

Felicity regained her foot. "Whew!" she said as she caught the mantel once more. She shot an embarrassed, weak smile over her shoulder at the young, dark haired girl who'd caught her. An oddly familiar looking girl – one in a white t-shirt, bright green shorts, equally bright knee socks with a helmet tucked under her arm, cleats slung over her shoulder by the laces, and a netted stick over her shoulder.

Suddenly realizing her fingers and thumb were still curled deep into Bert's nasal passages, Felicity grimaced. "Well," she said as she pulled those digits free and said a silent thank you that they hadn't preserved the moose's snot as well. "This is embarrassing."

And then Bert fell off the wall.

 

~*~

 

The head didn't bounce. It hit the hard tile floor with an undignified thump that echoed through the house like a boom. An antler cracked off and skittered across the smooth tile to disappear under the couch. The snout dented in. The mouth stopped smiling. One glass eye popped out, spun in a tight pirouette, and then flopped over onto its flat side to stare accusingly up at Felicity as she stared down.

Felicity cringed. "Oops."

The girl in the doorway rushed forward. She dumped her sporting gear on a nearby chair before helping Felicity down. "Ohmygod," she burst out. "You killed Bert! Oh. Oh, this is… this is bad. My dad is going to _kill_ you!"

"I…" Felicity put the toe of her boot over Bert's lone eye. "I'm _so_ sorry. I-I'll pay for it. I'll buy him a new one."

The girl gaped at her. "Got ten thousand dollars?"

"Ten thousand —"

"That's how much a guy last year offered my dad, but he wouldn't budge. It's the rarest animal he's ever brought home from a hunt. He tells the story all the time."

 "Great." She paused. "Wait. I know you."

"Oh. Yeah." The girl shifted. "About that…"

"Oh, God, and I went on and on.  Why didn't you say something?" Felicity demanded, mortified.

"I dunno." She hunched one shoulder. "Maybe I kind of liked talking to someone who wanted to talk to me for me and not because my last name is Queen." She eyed her. "What are you doing here?"

"I…" Okay. Couldn't tell her about her deal with Oliver to pick out a birthday gift. "I'm here with Oliver."

"Oliver," Thea repeated, looking skeptical.

"Yeah."

Doubt flickered over the girl's face. "Why?"

"Because. I'm his friend."

The doubt morphed into sheer disbelief. "Oliver? Oliver Queen?"

"Yes. Why? Is that hard to believe?"

"No. I mean…" Thea shifted. "Well, yeah. Sort of. I mean, Oliver's not exactly the type to —"

A door slammed somewhere in the house, making them both jump, and a second later, a woman yelled out, "Thea? What on earth was that racket?"

Thea Queen cringed. "Uh-oh."

Felicity stared at her. " _You're_ Thea?"

Oliver's sister pointed at her. "You don't tell her about the cigarettes, I'll take the rap for Bert."

"What? No!"

Thea ignored her and seized her lacrosse stick from the chair, gave it a careless wave that Felicity had to bob-and-weave to avoid taking to the nose. "Mom's always warning me to be careful with this thing. She'll totally buy it. The worst that happens is Dad doesn't let me drive his Porsche for a week."

"No! I'm not blaming you for something I did!"

"Thea?" Moira Queen called out again a second before she swept into the room. She made it two steps before she seemed to notice the moose head on the floor.

She stopped.

Thea froze.

Felicity gulped.

She'd seen Moira Queen before, of course, a glimpse in the halls of Queen Consolidated, the Welcome To Our Company video Felicity had to watch when she was hired, the front page of various newspapers, and more than a few covers of magazines – both financial, social, and fashion. She was, Felicity realized as the blond haired woman's glittering green eyes lifted from Moose to Felicity, everything those pictures captured. Perfectly coiffed hair, flawless makeup, and a spotless, creaseless cranberry colored suit. She was also beautiful, regal, and absolutely terrifying all at the same time.

Moira pointed at the moose. Frankly Felicity was surprised lightning didn't crack in the distance as the woman demanded, "What happened?"

Thea darted a sideways look at Felicity and adjusted her grip on her lacrosse stick. "Um. See, I was —"

"It was my fault," Felicity told her.

Thea winced.

Moira's eyes narrowed. "You?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. It was an accident."

Moira's mouth tightened. She didn't look away from Felicity. "Thea?"

"Yes?"

"Leave Miss… I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Nobody," Felicity said instantly. She cringed. "I mean, I'm not nobody. Obviously I'm somebody."

"She's Oliver's friend," Thea jumped in.

Moira took a deep breath. "Go find your brother, please."

Thea hesitated.

"Now."

The girl dropped her stick on the chair and bolted.

Moira approached Felicity, her heels making solid clicks against the tile, much like nails in a coffee, Felicity decided. The older woman stopped in front of Felicity. Her hands sank to her hips as she stared at the destroyed head.

Felicity removed the toe of her boot from Bert's eye.

Moira lifted her gaze to Felicity's. "Do you," she said softly, carefully, "have any idea—"

"I know. Thea told me. I am so sorry."

"— how much I hated that thing?" She threw her arms around her and squeezed. Tight. "Thank you! Oh, thank you, thank you, _thank you_! If I had to sit through the retelling of how he shot that thing I'd scream."

Shocked, Felicity could do nothing but stand there with an armful of one of the richest women in the world.

Moira squeezed her once more before drawing back. "I have dreamt every day about taking a golf club to that monstrosity but I know Robert would never let me hear the end of it."

Footsteps sounded in the hall and Moira shot a frantic look at the doorway. "Oh. Now. Please. _Please_ , don't tell them. I'll owe you a favor. Anything. Our cabin for the weekend. The jet!" She clapped her hands together. "Everybody wants a jet for a few days, right?"

"Mrs. Queen, that's really not necessary."

" _Shhhhh_!" Moira waved a hand at her as she took a hurried step back and put her stern face back on.

Both women turned to face the doorway just as Oliver stepped into it. Thea bumped him. An older, heavier, dark haired woman peeked out from around his shoulder.

"Oliver," Moira said stiffly, "I would appreciate it if you didn't leave your… guests… unattended in my home."

Felicity turned her eyes toward the ceiling and blew out a breath.

Oliver moved swiftly into the room. "I'm sorry, Mom. We're going to leave right after I check on Tommy."

"I'll take her out back," Thea said as she rushed forward to snag Felicity's arm and tug her toward the French doors on the far side of the room. "Come on, Felicity."

Felicity went – too confused and surprised – to do much more than let the teenager tow her along.

"Raisa?" Moira said.

The dark haired woman straightened. "Yes, Mrs. Queen?"

"Have someone clean this up before Mr. Queen sees it." She turned her attention to the moose, sighed as she wrung her hands and shook her head. "Oh, dear. I better go find Robert and break this horrible news." Moira shook her head again and then headed for the doorway. "Horrible. Just horrible. That woman. Really, Oliver."

"I'll take care of her, Mom," Oliver assured her as she exited.

As Thea rushed Felicity through the double doors and out onto the terrace beyond, Felicity could have sworn she heard Raisa laugh and say, "Oh, Mr. Oliver, I'd like to see you try."

 

 ~*~

 

[Read More About the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/85950138689/getting-through-the-break-olicity-flash-fiction)

 


	14. Bad Day, Good Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a shoe is just a shoe... until it isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an Alternate Universe flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read. Oh and this one? Yeah, this one is definitely going to be a multi-part story.

Oliver Queen shopped like a man. He tackled it like a chore.   He attacked it like he was going to war. Storm the mall. Conquer the mall. Carry the spoils triumphantly back to the car.

He cut through aisles, clipped past displays, ignored scantily clad fragrance girls in low cut blouses offering to spritz him with a little something sexy. He didn't even glance at the product demonstrations. Didn't miss a beat in his step when an unfortunate sales clerk offered to treat him to a free facial.

Felicity, on the other hand, meandered. She'd lost track of Oliver somewhere between the free, full-sized mascara sample and the demonstration of organic, handmade soaps that had her handing over cash for a bar of honey-toffee scented luxury. It wasn't, however, until she spotted a clearly lonely, clearly in need of a good home, pair of leopard-print, calf hair, four inch heels that horror set in.

She turned the shoe over in her hand, loving the spiky heel, loving the texture of the hair against her fingertip. How could anyone pass up a shoe like that? How could it not even make a man brake for just a second? So she'd stopped. And she'd asked. And she was now seriously contemplating rescuing a size six from the stockroom.

Lip caught between her teeth, she toed her way out of her boot, and then slipped on the heels. Instantly her shortitude fell away. Four inches of added height tended to do that to a girl. They also, Felicity admitted as she studied her reflection in the mirror, made her legs miraculously longer and her butt… She turned sideways, patted her denim clad rear. Yeah. These weren't just shoes. They were booty tamers. And the print… She crossed one foot over the other, tried not to purr her satisfaction at the splash of wild the animal print bestowed upon her.

 _Sexy_ , the shoes whispered. _Flirtatious. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Buy me. Buy me. Buuuuuuy me_.

Felicity released her lip, cocked her head. She didn't need more shoes. She had plenty. Too many. But theoretically she was giving one away.  Didn't that warrant replacing them without any sense of guilt? She fished her phone from her purse, snapped a quick pic, and texted it to Marie. Cyber-shopping with girlfriends was definitely one of the benefits of technology.

Soon she wouldn't need the phone. She could just drag Marie to the store window and point. Felicity paused, stared at her reflection. Ah, hell. When had she started thinking that way? When had a possible job offer turned into a for-sure-thing? She still didn't know she was actually going to take it. It was just a possibility. A What If? Her temporary reassignment to France was always meant to be temporary.

So what if she'd found herself in France? It didn't mean it was the only place she existed. Plus, she liked Starling City. She'd enjoyed her job at Queen Consolidated. If she went back to Europe, it would be with the understanding that it would become her home. It would be with the knowledge that trips to the US would only be vacations.

Home, Marie had told her when seeing her off at the airport, is where the heart is, not the head.

Felicity sighed. The future, she decided, was a lot like these shoes. She liked the idea of them. They attracted her. There was something risky about them. Something kind of scary. But actually doing it, actually going there… Wouldn’t that lead to trouble? The shoes would definitely impact her wallet, but the future? That wasn't just about choosing a job or an apartment. It wasn't just about security. Whatever choice she made would affect her heart. She knew that and yet… Felicity pursed her lips and studied the pointy toes of those shoes. The challenge, the danger of it, that very risk... that was part of the intrigue and excitement.

Besides, it wasn't like she couldn't undo a choice. Jobs could be abandoned. Belongings moved back. If she chose the fork in the road, she could always backtrack. So why did it feel like there was only one choice here? One that, once made, couldn't be undone? That was ridiculous.

Her stomach gave a nervous flip and Felicity flattened a hand against it. France had sneaked up on her. It seduced her without her even knowing it and, because she hadn't been expecting it, her heart had been wide open for the experience to slip in and take her by surprise. So why wouldn't she want to go back? Why wouldn't she take the job? Why would she stay in Starling City? Why did something in her heart twinge at the idea of getting back on that plane and never coming back? Her friends were in Europe. A solid job offer was there, too. There was nothing here for her, really. Nothing except —

Felicity straightened. Her gaze shot to the mirror. Her lips parted. Oh, hell. No. No, no. _No_. Why was _that_ thought even in her brain? When had _that_ notion sneaked in as even a possible consideration? That wasn't a factor. It wasn't even an _anything_. _He_ wasn't an anything!

Felicity swore under her breath as she bent and turned to pry out of the suddenly treacherous heels from her foot. And these shoes were not some weird psychological symbolism for — She jerked to a stop before her face could collide with masculine thighs.

She looked up. He looked down. She swallowed. "Oliver."

His brows pulled together in an unhappy and slightly confused frown. "You left me," he told her.

"I…" She straightened. Feeling oddly off balance, she tugged her cardigan straight, shoved the fingers of both hands through her hair. She smoothed the errant curls down, or tried to, before clearing her throat. "At the speed you were going I figured you'd lap back around the entire store long before I'd ever catch up with you."

"I turned around and realized I was talking to air. It's a good thing everybody walks around with Bluetooth now, otherwise people would think I was crazy."

"That's such a horrible thing? I talk to myself all the time."

"Yeah, well, you've never been on the cover of _Time_. Once you have?" Oliver glanced around. "People noticing you talk to yourself in public could drop your stock four percent in a day."

"I'd have to own stock to care."

"You own QC stock."

"Right. Sure." She twirled her index finger in the air. "Woohoo to my fifty shares. I'm excited about retiring to Cozumel on them when I turn a hundred and five."

His frown deepened as he gestured at the shoes. "Should you be buying those?"

"Oh, I'm not poor. You pay me very, very well," Felicity assured him. She caught hold of his forearm to balance herself before she lifted a foot and pulled one shoe off, then the other. She let the heels dangle from her fingertips as she tipped her head back to peer up at him. In her bare feet she barely came up to his shoulder. She found that rather thrilling. She moistened her lips a moment before she flashed him a quick grin. "I just won't own three vacation homes around the world like you do."

"Six."

"Twelve if you're counting the apartments owned by Queen Consolidated for its executive use, if you want to be technical."

"Don't you have a retirement plan?" Oliver demanded.

"Of course I do. Never get sick followed by win the lottery."

"You're kidding."

"Of course I'm not." Felicity dropped the shoes in the box on the seat next to her. "Money is one of the three things I never joke about."

"That makes both of us.. What are the other two?"

She held up the box. "Shoes."

"That's only two."

"I don't know you well enough to tell you the third."

"I'm intrigued."

"Well, you know what they say about a woman maintaining an air of mystery."

He eyed the box. "And you need a pair of ridiculously heeled animal print shoes for that?"

She clutched the box to her chest. "Desperately."

"What's with you and helpless animals today?"

"Bert was an accident."

"Uh-huh. You still haven't explained that part."

"I did, too. I told you. I was curious. I reached up," she said, mimicking her earlier movements by reaching up to touch the tip of Oliver's nose, then his chin. "And the next thing I knew —"

His eyes sparkled. "Catastrophe," he murmured.

"Utter." Suddenly she was aware she was still touching him. Aware of the scrape of his stubble against his fingertips. She dropped her hand, rubbed her fingers together to try and disperse the tingling in the tips. "Besides, these aren't real leopard, Oliver."

"I know they're not —" he cut himself off, took a deep breath. "I donate to the animal preservation society, Felicity. I know they're not real leopard."

"Oh. Good."

"So Bert was an accident —"

"It was!"

"And buying those should would be?"

"Liberation."

"They're totally impractical."

"I know." She beamed as she hugged the box. "Aren't they great?"

He hesitated. "But you don't _need_ them."

"It's not about needing. It's more about wanting."

His forehead creased. "Why?"

"Why? What do you mean 'why?'"

"If you don't need them…"

Felicity smiled as she laughed. "Haven't you ever wanted something just because you wanted it? Even when you knew it wasn't really good for you? Indulged yourself at all just," she shrugged, made a vague gesture, "because?"

He said nothing, just continued staring at her.

"Well?   Haven't you?"

His blue eyes glinted. Different this time. Hotter. Brighter. They seemed to pull her in and suddenly the tingling in her fingers rippled up her arms, across the back of her neck, into her breasts and belly.

Oliver shifted his jaw a second before he growled, "Buy the shoes," and walked away.

 

~*~

[Read More About the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/85950138689/getting-through-the-break-olicity-flash-fiction)


	15. Detour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A romantic restaurant with a beautiful view gives Felicity a glimpse of something unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an Alternate Universe flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read. Oh and this one? Yeah, this one is definitely going to be a multi-part story.

Apogee was one of the most beautiful restaurants Felicity had ever seen. Having dined in some of the most historic eateries in France, Italy, and Spain, that was saying quite a bit. It wasn't that the interior was merely elegant. Most restaurants could pull that off. It was that, at Apogee, they'd transformed that elegance into warmth that brought flagstone, maple wood, and lush gray velvet together to create a space that invited diners – only fifty at a time – to sit, stay, and nibble on the daily specials while admiring a view that was, Felicity thought as she cupped her chin in her hand and released a long, low, appreciative sigh, absolutely stunning.

She swirled the black straw in her iced tea lazily and watched clouds drift across the horizon. She'd forgotten how pretty Starling City could be. Where Paris' history could be seen in architecture hundreds of years old, Starling was its exact opposite. Where Paris was a hodgepodge of styles that stretched from Roman to Baroque to Art Nouveau, Art Deco, and even Contemporary, Starling was all modern, an homage to modern man bending steel and glass to its will while stretching those gleaming towers hundreds of feet into the air.

In a town of kings and kingmakers, Apogee flaunted a middle finger at them all from its perch atop the tallest building in the entire city – hell, in any of the surrounding cities, too – and as long as Felicity didn't try to look down at the street far, far below, the world didn't do that weird spinning dip thing that made her lightheaded.

It was like a winter wonderland, Felicity thought as she sighed in pleasure again and idly stirred the straw in her glass. Nature had frosted all the rooftops white, glazed the trees in ice and snow. In the distance, out on the horizon, huge shipping boats drifted in and out of the harbor as equally massive gray clouds inched along the sky above them, casting alternating pools of shadow and light on the ocean's surface and threatening more snow.

They'd started the meal with a hot toddy to chase off the winter chill, and then graduated to a creamy lobster bisque with a side shot of sherry and herbed popovers, still fresh and warm from the oven. Her entrée, a wine-braised short rib dish, would follow shortly, along with Oliver's scallops in a luscious white wine butter sauce. Though, if the main course went anything like the ones before it… Felicity slid Oliver's soup bowl a sideways glance, shifted her attention to the split, as-yet-uneaten-now-cold popover, and then sighed as she looked back out the window. She'd be done with her meal before Oliver had more than a half a dozen mouthfuls of his.

She'd finished her coffee during phone calls one through four. Her soup during calls five through eight. She'd lingered over her second popover through calls nine, ten, and eleven, before giving up all hope of a conversation longer than, "Can you pass the pepper, please?"

While she'd made a paper snake with her straw wrapper, Oliver had donated several millions to three charities, including funding an entire toy drive for Starling City Memorial, rejected five requests for money, and turned down two meetings she concluded would have resulted in requests for money. Call number eleven sounded like it was heading in the same general direction.

She smiled as giant snowflakes twirled past the glass, paused as cross currents captured them there, then wilted gracefully toward the city below. She looked to Oliver to see if he'd noticed, but he hadn't.

"No," he said into his phone as he leaned back in his chair and drummed his thumb on the edge of the table. His face pinched. His mouth tightened. "What did I just say, Rogers? Evans has wasted enough of my time. I've met with him twice. Both times it was pointless." He cocked his head, rolled his eyes. "Isn't it always urgent with Evans? Tell him no, and tell him if he calls me one more time about this proposal, I'll fire him."

Oliver shook his head as he tapped a button to end the call.   "Sorry about that."

"That's okay," Felicity said, even though it wasn't.

He lifted his spoon, tasted the soup, then made a face.

She arched a brow. "Problem?"

"It's cold."

She started to point out the obvious but stopped herself.

Oliver nudged the bowl aside. He lingered on the window. "It's snowing."

"Yes, isn't it pretty?"

"It's going to make getting anywhere in the city impossible now."

"It's pretty," she insisted.

He grumbled, glanced at his phone when it vibrated on the table. He sighed and shook his head as he sent the call to voicemail.

"Wow," Felicity murmured, "not the President?"

Oliver frowned. "What?"

She sighed as she folded her arms along the edge of the table and shifted toward him. "Is it always like this?"

"Like what?" Oliver motioned to the waiter and, when the man came over, gestured to his soup. "My soup is cold."

"My apologies, sir," the waiter said as he lifted the plate and saucer. "I will bring you a fresh bowl."

Felicity watched the man depart before looking to Oliver again. She opened her mouth, stopped herself, and clicked her jaw shut.

Oliver spread his hands apart. "What?"

"Maybe you could eat a hot meal if you stopped answering your phone."

"It's the middle of the day."

"It's lunch."

He checked his watch. "Late lunch."

"Still lunch."

"What's your point?"

"Birds gotta fly, fish gotta swim." She flapped a hand at him. "Man's gotta eat. Even the working stiff gets at least thirty minutes to unplug. I'd think a guy like you could take an hour."

"A guy like me," Oliver repeated. He took a long sip of water from his glass before he set it down, patted his mouth with the linen cloth. "Guys like me work through lunch, Felicity. And dinner. Probably breakfast the next day, too. I can't remember the last time I had a meal that didn't include proposals and stockholders reports."

"That's sad."

He tensed. His jaw went tight. "It's business, Felicity.  It doesn't leave a lot of time for frivolity.  You don't get where I am by jetting off to play water polo. I have responsibilities. Our companies don't run themselves and the people who work for us wouldn't appreciate it if I took off for a week or two on the Riviera while the economy tanked, would they."

Felicity reached across the table and covered his hand. "I didn't mean that. I meant it must be very hard to have people only come to you when they want something, that's all. But you're still entitled to some time for yourself, you know. You can't be all work and no play. The world won't collapse in on itself if Oliver Queen puts his phone on mute."

Oliver sighed and stared out at the city. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I suppose it's fitting though. Today was pretty much a disaster."

"That's not true."

He grunted. "Of course you'd say that. You somehow walked out of there with three bags of clothes, a pair of shoes and something called a Home Hair Spa."

"Hey, they said it would take the chlorine out of my water."

"We were there for Thea. We didn't get anything for Thea. Therefore…" He rolled a hand toward her. "Disaster."

"No. Success."

"You equate no progress whatsoever with success? Interesting business model."

"Don't be a smartass. What we did today was eliminate all the stuff you didn't want to get her," Felicity pointed out. "So? See? Progress."

"Yes," Oliver drawled, "I feel so accomplished."

"I told you when this started I didn't think you'd find what you wanted at a mall. I don't know that you'll find it in any store."

"So what?" he asked as the waiter returned to slide a steaming bowl of bisque, along with a fresh popover, in front of him. Oliver reached for the salt, "I'm supposed to wish it into being?"

"No. I mean, maybe the perfect gift for her isn't something you can buy and put in a box. Maybe it's an intangible. An experience. You know, like skydiving."

"You want me to give my sister the gift of a broken neck?"

Felicity rolled her eyes. "Like, Oliver. I said 'like.' Give her an experience she'll enjoy and never forget. She's gotta have interests. Think about those. Approach the gift from that angle. I know she likes shoes."

"What is with women and shoes?" he demanded. "Someone needs to explain this to me."

"If we have to explain it, you'll never understand."

He sighed.

"So come on. What else does she like besides fashion? Oh, and lacrosse."

"Horses. Sailing. Diving. She was into painting for awhile. She likes to read."

"See? Lots of interests."

"Ballet. Violin. Flute. Piano."

"That’s a lot of interests."

"My parents believe in well-rounded educations."

"Wait. Are these Thea's interests or your parents?"

"Both."

Felicity shook her head. "No, no. I mean, does she want to do them, or do your parents make her do them?"

He scowled. "I told you. Both."

"But —"

"Oliver! I thought that was you," a large man said as he stepped up to the table. He clapped a big hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Good to see you."

Felicity looked from Oliver to the man – who was doing a pretty good imitation of Snake Plissken meets Paul Bunyan in a borrowed James Bond suit – and back again.

Oliver smiled at her. "Felicity, this is Slade Wilson. Slade, this is Felicity Smoak."

Slade shifted his attention to her as he took her hand. He paused mid-shake. His lone eye narrowed. "Smoak? The Felicity Smoak?"

Surprised, Felicity flicked her attention to Oliver, who shrugged. "I guess," she answered finally. "I've never met another like me."

A slow smile spread over the man's mouth. "Your reputation precedes you, I assure you. I've heard wonderful things about your work in cyber security. I heard you saved Oliver's ass a few times." He released her hand, chucked Oliver in the shoulder. "Wining and dining her to make sure she sticks around, huh? Always knew you were smart."

"Oh. No." Felicity shook her head, sat up a little straighter in her chair. "That's not what —"

"You know Queen Consolidated likes our employees to remain happy," Oliver interrupted.

Felicity's eyes narrowed.

Oliver didn't notice, or perhaps pretended not to notice. He angled himself in his chair to face Slade more fully. "What can I do for you, Slade?"

The big man stroked his dark, well-trimmed beard. "I was wondering if you'd had a chance to look over that investment material I sent over a few weeks ago."

Oliver bobbed his head. "I glanced at it."

"And?"

He shrugged. "I don't see anything of interest there."

Surprise stole over Slade's face. "Really? Nothing?"

"Not for Queen Consolidated."

"Maybe not for the corporation, but for you," Slade insisted.

Oliver shrugged again before reaching for his water glass. As he fingers curled loose around the stem of the glass, his eyes shifted up to meet hers. They held. His fingers did a slow drum along the glass stalk. His gaze fell away. His lids fluttered down. A second later, he glanced at Slade again, dismissed him with the single look. "Thanks for thinking of me, Slade, but I think I'll pass."

Silence fell. Felicity tried not to fidget. Finally, Slade nodded. He stepped away from the table. "Thanks anyway, Oliver. Good to see you."

Felicity watched his back as the man walked away. She slanted a look at Oliver.

"Now what?" he asked.

"You lied."

"Excuse me?"

She nodded in Slade's direction. "You lied to him. Whatever information he gave you? You're very interested, yet you lied to his face, and I want to know why."

 

~*~

[Read More About the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/85950138689/getting-through-the-break-olicity-flash-fiction)

 


	16. Impulses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity debate need and want, and Oliver begins to realize what he needs to do might not be what he wants at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an Alternate Universe flash fiction story written as part of the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge going on at Tumblr. It's a free writing challenge with the story "inspired" by the supplied weekly prompt. Flash fics are written, edited and posted in only 60 minutes, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> As an A/U fic, things are different but "similar" and hopefully everything will be clear as you read. Oh and this one? Yeah, this one is definitely going to be a multi-part story.
> 
> I went over my hour limit on this one because 1) People have been so patient in waiting for me to finally catch up on this story (which I am now Yay!) and 2) because I absolutely didn't want to cut this scene in half and make people wait another week for the second half (see #1).

This lunch had not gone as planned. Oliver had known it the moment he hung up from his fifth call and looked up to find Felicity gazing out the window – her eyes soft and unfocused, her mouth curved in an absent smile – as the afternoon sunlight glowed a golden peach on her cheeks and lips. When she finally glanced his way and started to speak, only to have the phone ring again, he could almost hear her disappointment when he answered it.

Rude? Yeah. Probably. But that was his life. There were always irons in the fire. Things people needed. Emergencies that sprung up or favors to be done. People always wanted things, and everybody, Oliver learned long ago, had a price. Some were content to merely be seen eating with the right person in the right trendy spot. Others wouldn't be happy until he handed them a seven figure check.

Felicity, however, seemed perfectly content to sit and watch the day pass from this height. She'd been delighted with the simple flicker of snowflakes in the air. She'd been irritated on his behalf when he wouldn't take a break long enough to eat his soup while still warm. Now she'd busted him as a liar.

Definitely not a good first date.

Oliver closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Not a date. This wasn't a date. Not a real one, at any rate, which was good because he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually been on one. This was subterfuge. Strategy like any other employed to maneuver the outcome he wanted. And what he wanted was Felicity away from Tommy long enough to extract her permanently so the merger between Queen Consolidated and Lance Enterprises could go through. That would be hard to do if she thought he was a sad, boring, business-obsessed liar while his brother was the freaking Cary Grant of Starling.

The unsettling thing was that she'd read him so well and so quickly. Oliver prided himself on maintaining an unreadable business expression. He'd sat, looking cool as a cucumber, through negotiations and power plays while bluffing his ass off and watching his opposition, literally, sweat through their shirts. Knowing Felicity could glance at him and see the truth disturbed him on levels he didn't quite understand.

"So?" she asked, her brows arching higher. "Why the lie?"

Oliver stalled by dabbing the corner of his mouth with the napkin. He set the cloth aside, inched his soup bowl over enough that he could rest his arms on the tabletop. Since lying wasn't getting him anywhere, he opted for the outrageous. He went with the truth.

"A few weeks ago, Slade Wilson brought me a proposal for a startup looking for investment capital. He'd heard about it from a friend of a friend of a…" He flicked his fingers toward her. "You get the idea."

"Sure. Somebody's third cousin wants to get his business out of the basement and they're hitting up friends for money."

"Exactly. Slade thought I'd be interested because Queen Consolidated dabbles in tech."

Felicity snorted as she lifted her water. "You do more than dabble."

"True, but we're moving into building components and the tech itself, not software. Not theoretical applications. So." He shrugged.

"So you passed."

"Yes."

"But you were interested."

Oliver shook his head.

Felicity tipped hers.

"No," he said again.

Those finely arched brows slid higher.

"Okay, fine. Maybe. But interested is too strong a word. I was…"

"Intrigued?" she offered when he trailed off.

"Curious."

A light glittered in her eye as satisfaction curled her lips. "Ahhhh."

"Mildly," he told her. "Mildly curious."

"About the company itself?"

"Not really."

That smile was back, full on Cheshire cat this time. "So it was the idea of it."

"I guess. Sure. They've got some good names attached to it. Lots of raw talent. Lots of potential. But potential doesn't do crap in this world. Lots of people have talent."

"If you think they have the potential and the talent, why not invest with them?" she asked.

"Because their real problem isn't money."

"What is their problem?"

"Management," Oliver told her. "Experience. Structure. Direction. They're all talented people with big dreams but none of them have ever done anything like this on their own. They've no clue what they're getting into. They're like a goldfish."

Felicity's brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"A goldfish looks great in a bowl by itself. Put another one in there, things start looking cramped. These guys? They're the lone goldfish. They rule that bowl. Once they start this company, they're going to be that very small fish in an ocean of tech. Without someone with experience and connections, they'll be belly up in eight months. If they get lucky? A year. Not a day more."

"But you're excited about it."

He shrugged. "So?"

"So why not invest and help them?"

"Because it's not practical."

"But you could help."

"Felicity, I have my own empire to run. I don't have time to build someone else's and make them millions."

"Why not? Everybody needs a hobby."

Oliver laughed.

"Besides," she continued, "maybe you'll find you're good at it."

"What? Making money? I already know I am."

She rolled her eyes and swatted his hand. "No. Helping people. Doing something small and intimate that means something personal to you. Something that excites you."

"I have QC for that. That's building something."

"Something, yes," she agreed, "but is it yours? Does it excite you? Does it stir something in you that makes you happy and passionate?"

"Of course it's satisfying."

Felicity clasped her hands together on the table, tapped her thumbs together while she waited.

"It is."

Her lips twisted to one side as one brow rose.

"It is," Oliver insisted. "I'm perfectly content with my work at QC. We're a multi-billion dollar international corporation, Felicity. We have a presence in every country in the world."

"Content."

"Yes. Content. What's wrong with content?"

"It's so…" She made a face then blew rather limp, wet-sounded raspberry.

"Life can't always be a rollercoaster, Felicity. Sometimes stable and staid and set is a good thing."

She shook her head as she leaned back in her chair. She rested her elbow on the chair back. "See, this is your problem."

"Another one? Should I start a list?"

"It's this whole need/want thing again," she told him.

Oliver groaned. Oh, God. Not that again. He'd barely survived it the first time – she'd been rambling on about wanting something for the simple wanting of it even knowing it wasn't right or good while all he could do was stand in the middle of the department store and wonder if he was picturing her very naked ass in his bed, wearing nothing but those heels, because he _needed_ her there or because he _wanted_ her there.

Knowing she'd bought the damned leopard-print stilettos and that they were sitting on the backseat of his car wasn't helping at all. 'Cause now he was thinking about her naked in his backseat. He never should have kissed her, Oliver thought as he stared at her mouth. Dumbest decision ever. Not because she had the hots for Tommy and he was nothing like Tommy. Not because she'd never be interested in somebody like him. Not like that. Not even because she'd drawn a big red circle around how opposite their life viewers were. No, kissing her was dumb for the purely practical fact that he wanted to do it again. Right now. And that impulse threatened to sway the power to her side of the table. That would violate Rule Number One: Always operate from a position of strength, assuredness, and power.

"What's the matter, Oliver?" Felicity asked as she shifted toward him. She crossed her legs, her foot bumped his under the table. "Afraid of the challenge? Afraid that, if you get a taste of it, you'll like it and want more?"

She leaned forward, those blue eyes bright, those lips holding the barest hint of seduction. "When was the last time anything challenged you? Really, honestly, challenged you that you couldn’t figure out and anticipate three – no… five steps ahead?"

"A few days ago," he said, voicing the thought even as it popped into his head. "When you walked into that damned banquet hall."

She blinked at that. The corners of her mouth twitched upward. "I'm flattered."

"You're the only woman I know who takes being called difficult as a compliment."

"I prefer 'spirited.'"

"You're definitely that."

"People like us… we need challenge, Oliver. We need excitement and stimulation. If we don't get it we just wither up inside. We start believing that this is all there is. Cubical walls and vending machine sandwiches."

"Oh, God, people actually eat those things?"

"Don't get hung up on the details here. Stay with me."

"I'm a details guy."

She moistened her lips and leaned toward him even more. Her eyes sparkled. "And I bet that, somewhere in that amazing money-brain of yours, you're already thinking about the perfect company name for that startup. The logo. The branding slogan. I bet you even secretly doodled them on the cover of the proposal Slade Wilson gave you."

"That's not true."

"Because despite all of this…" she continued, ignoring him as she swept her hand out at the restaurant, the view, the city spread out before them like a buffet, then turned back to him to prop her chin against her thumb, stroke her index finger against the bottom swell of her lip. "What really has those business boy-parts of yours tingling is the idea of rolling up those three hundred dollar shirtsleeves and getting down and dirty with a company from the wrong side of the tracks. The one everybody is telling you will never, ever make it. The one your parents would be horrified about if you brought it home. The one even your own common sense is telling you isn't right for you. But you still want it. Maybe even more now."

Oliver cleared his throat and shifted in the chair, suddenly tense, suddenly tight and, yeah, hard. Because a part of him did want to make a very bad, very wrong choice. Not with the startup. Screw the startup.  He the wrong choice he wanted to make was Felicity.  It didn't even make sense. It wasn't logical. It was totally impractical. It wasn't even real. That was the screwy part. He didn't want her. Tommy wanted her. He was only acting a part to keep _them_ apart. Ah hell. Why was this getting so complicated?

He tugged his tie, smoothed a hand down its length. "It doesn't matter what I want. I have Queen Consolidated."

Granted, QC was struggling, but once the merger went through, it wouldn't be. It would revert back to the stable ship he'd inherited when his father stepped down and retired. It would be a nice, safe company. Nothing wrong with that. All he'd have to do was occasionally tap a dial, correct the course a few degrees, keep an eye out for the errant iceberg while looking for places to dock, and make even more money.

Doing what his dad did – building something from nothing, putting his stamp on something tangible – did intrigue him. But he wasn't unhappy with his life. The logical, practical thing was to remain CEO of Queen Consolidated, not jump ship and take the reckless, stupid, pointless risk of some go-nowhere startup.

He wasn't the irresponsible, reckless one. That was Tommy. Tommy wouldn't hesitate to trash decades of work if something sparkly caught his eye. He'd just go for it. Oliver knew better. He understood loyalty, integrity and hard work. He understood that Queen Consolidated was an institution to be honored. His place at its helm just… was. Like the rise and set of the sun each day. Nobody thought about it. It was simply expected. Simply relied upon. Without it, the world couldn't go on spinning.

Oliver straightened his silverware. "Do you really think I'm the kind of man who'd leave my family in the lurch like that?" He lifted his gaze to hers. "If you do, you don't know me at all."

Felicity's face softened. "Oliver, wanting your own life isn't a betrayal of your family. If you collapsed from exhaustion tomorrow because you worked yourself into the ground, what would your family do?"

"They'd promote our CFO, Walter Steele," Oliver said without hesitation. "He's a good man. Very capable. He'd do a wonderful job until I was back."

She waited.

Oliver sighed. "That's different."

"Why?"

"Because I'm the CEO. People rely on me."

"Maybe too much."

"Do you know what would happen to the stock if I stepped down?"

"It would dip," she said, confirming his fears. "Then, it would rebound as it always does."

"You don't know that."

"Apple survived the loss of Steve Jobs. Queen Consolidated will, too. If you wanted to do something else, Walter Steele would step up. The family would be okay. So would the business."

"You want me to put the future of hundreds of thousands of workers at risk because I want to go off and what? Learn how to weave lanyards?"

"No. I'd expect them to want you to be happy and let you go do whatever you want to do, whether that was lanyards or startups or family of your own. It's okay to want time of your own."

He scoffed. "That's not the way life works. This," he motioned to the restaurant, to his phone, which seemed to vibrate again on another incoming call in response to Oliver's silent command, "this is life."

"I'd hate that."

"Yeah, well, that's what being successful looks like, Felicity."

She looked away.

Oliver sighed.  He dropped an elbow to the table, pinched the bridge of his nose. "I didn't mean it that way."

She shrugged. "It's okay. It probably feels like I'm criticizing your life. I'm not. Really. But it's only fair you get a few pokes in about mine."

"I didn't mean —"

"I just think there's more to life than money and work. Fun and happiness matters. Maybe more than anything in the end. I mean, when was the last time you took a vacation?" When he didn't answer, sadness washed through her eyes.

Oliver bristled. "I'm a busy man. I have —"

"Responsibilities. I know."

"I'm building something here."

"An ulcer?"

"An empire. Making a mark. Leaving a legacy."

"I'm going to leave a mark, too, Oliver. A legacy of my own. You want to know how?" She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "A family."

"You want to get married?"

"Eventually. When I find the right man. Then I'll have a baby. Maybe two."

"You want to get pregnant?"

"That's generally the way you acquire one, Oliver. Yes."

Pregnant. It was a weird notion to him. Most of the women he knew had forgone babies for the corporate ladder, or hadn't wanted children enough to risk their physique. But Felicity? His gaze wandered over her. Yeah. He could totally see her doing that and being happy the whole time, even when her belly got so big she wouldn't be able to see her feet.

"I want to leave behind love. I want to make someone happy. Maybe leave a few smiles behind. I mean…" Felicity picked up his spoon. "Someone came up with this, right? Someone invented it. Do you know who?"

Oliver caught her hand and turned it, tipped his head so he could see the stamp on the bottom. "William Rogers."

"Who remembers who he even was?" she challenged.

"American silversmith and pioneer of the silver plating industry."

"Okay," she drawled, "bad example. But still. I'm just saying, you can have both. You can have work and fun. Your dad obviously did."

"He and mom built Queen Consolidated together."

"That's the way it should be. Partners. In business and in the bedroom."

Oliver grumbled. "Are you really bringing up my parents' sex lives at lunch?"

"Okay, seriously. You do know that's how you and Tommy got here, right?"

"Me, yes," Oliver said as the waiter approached their table with their lunch. "I sometimes think Tommy was abandoned by gypsies on the doorstep."

"Gypsies steal children," Felicity told him, "they don't give them away."

"You didn't know Tommy."

She laughed.

He liked it when she laughed, Oliver realized as the waiter set their plates down in front of them. Somehow though, he thought as Felicity pick up her fork and take her first bite, he didn't think she'd be doing much of it when this was all over.

Felicity paused, her fork halfway to her mouth, when Oliver nudged his plate to the side. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said, though it suddenly felt like everything was wrong. "I've just realized I've lost my appetite for it."

 

~*~

[Read More About the Olicity Flash Fic Challenge](http://smoakandarrow.tumblr.com/post/85950138689/getting-through-the-break-olicity-flash-fiction)


End file.
